


put your money where your mouth is

by NymboDerp (nymmiah)



Series: Haikyuu AUs [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Oikawa is a camboy, Alternate Universe - Oikawa never played volleyball in high school, Character Development, Client to Lovers, Everyone is 18+ unless stated otherwise, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, Genderfluid Character, InTheCloset!Kuroo, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Meaningless Sex, Multi, Original Character(s), Physical Disability, Sex Worker!Oikawa, Slow Build, genderfluid!oikawa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymmiah/pseuds/NymboDerp
Summary: Oikawa's always been good at a lot of different things: showing off, lying, hiding away behind just another one of his facades. It's probably why he's so good at his current job, seducing people over a webcam and plying them of all of their cash. He enjoys being enjoyed; he enjoys being paid for it too.There's a standard method of interacting with his customers, in which they never cross boundaries and pry into his personal life, and he never opens up to them to become anything more than service provider and consumer. But Kuroo's a whole other story.In which Oikawa is a camboy, and Kuroo is a desperate man.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exploration of my personal headcanons of Oikawa in a rather sordid AU. Also an exploration into one of my favourite pairings of all times, OiKuro.
> 
> This is based off of an RP I once had with someone, so the writing is a little strange: it's heavily skewed towards Oikawa's perspective and his thoughts and feelings. The way that this fiction is written is basically a stream of Oikawa's consciousness in addition to biased 3rd person descriptions.
> 
> Furthermore, this fiction is going to be filled with extremely heavy topics, such as **gender dysphoria, unhealthy/unsupportive families, internalised homophobia, self-acceptance/hate, emotional toxicity** , and other related topics.
> 
> If my RP partner ever reads this, please know that I treasure the times we had, as short as they may have been.

The light was on, a constant green that told him he was online.

His eyes fixed upon the eye of the camera, smiling beguilingly at it as he crept forward, the sleeves of his shirt slipping off to give a tantalising display of his upper chest; a smooth expanse of pale, unmarked skin that he had long since worked on to maintain. In his peripheral vision, he could see the chat speed by, praises and jeering and requests and images flashing by without decency. Every so often, he would see the same words crop up--

**Face.**

> _Show us your face._

**Name.**

> _Tell us your name._

He didn’t bother taking notice of the chat these days.

Instead, he parted his lips into a pleasured sigh, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. He raised a delicate hand, fingers tracing those now-moist lips before pushing straight in, reaching all the way to the back of his throat and making him moan out a throaty sound.

It opened his throat up even more; he could push his fingers further in, all the way until his knuckles brushed against the roof of his mouth and he was three fingers in, throat-deep.

It was all just a matter of practice; the slick expanse of his mouth was familiar territory for his fingers to explore.

He sucked on his own fingers, slurping and gasping audibly, moving them in and out as if he was being throat-fucked. His voice was raw; it became even rawer when he finally pulled his fingers out, eyes teary and reddened.

Drool slipped out of his parted mouth, sliding down in dewy, glossy trails along the slender length of his fingers and into the curvature of his palms. It slid down his chin, down his neck, and he covered his mouth in facsimile of embarrassment even as he sent the camera yet another glance.

He rarely spoke when he was in front of the camera like this, his voice shaping meaningless sounds instead of intelligent words, breathy and breathless as he put on a show.

Oikawa couldn’t recall why he’d ever started doing this.

It was--easy, he supposed. He was used to falling into roles that other people had arranged for him, and to please people to the best of his ability. He’d enjoyed presenting himself to those around him, showing off in all of the many ways that only depicted him at his best.

He enjoyed being enjoyed like this.

He was in control here, choosing how to display himself and exactly what was being displayed. And he was being paid to be in control, pleasuring himself in front of a camera for an audience of faceless people, moaning and touching himself until he was raw and used.

“What a mess I’ve made,” Oikawa murmured out, voice husky and intentionally pitched upwards into something far more androgynous than his usual voice. He slid his fingers across his own skin, wiping up his saliva and coating his fingers liberally in his own fluids.

He brought himself closer to the camera, close enough that the mask no longer cast shadows over his eyes to hide their colour, close enough that the reddened, swollen shape of his lips were no longer just a hint.

Leaning in forward and sending it a coy smile, he brought his hand between his legs and let out a breathy gasp as he slipped his fingers into himself. He moaned loudly as he pressed his fingers in deep, turning just enough that they could see him fingering himself, see how he was stretching himself wide and loose in preparation for whatever toy he decided to play with that day.

He was in control here.

This was just--business like usual.


	2. II

His main source of income was selling exclusive videos and photos to his patrons.

They were reliable sources for income, really--especially since he would regularly create new content for his patrons to purchase. They could provide input as to what they wanted to see; it made him enough to get by.

Oikawa didn’t usually stream himself online--there was too much risk of error, too much risk of uncovering his identity and exposing himself, but it was days like these that he earned the most.

He only ever scheduled streams once every few weeks. Especially when he needed the money.

His faceless audience always enjoyed it far more when they were able to see him fulfill their every request in real-time.

They tipped generously, both in cash and in compliments.

They enjoyed watching him as he trembled and gasped and shuddered as he worked his way down to the hilt of the thickest, largest dildo that he had; they’d praise him as he came over and over again without being touched as he worked himself over with vibrators; they wanted to see him become utterly debauched as he gorged himself on cake to the point of being sick--all over himself.

His patrons would pay to watch his videos and his streams; they could pay more to send him messages that would bypass the public chat and that he would be obligated to react to.

Streams always brought the more depraved of his patrons out.

Some of patrons were regulars, recurring without fail whenever he scheduled a stream. He recognised some of their names through repeated exposure. It wasn’t often that he would receive messages after a stream was over, but it seemed that that day was an anomaly.

Oikawa found himself staring at a newly arrived message, bold and red, as it crawled onto the screen accompanied by an amount of money. Oikawa didn’t allow himself to react at the amount.

> **i want to hire you for a night next week.**

“Ne, you’re rather forward, aren’t you, Okane-san?” He stated, a smile appearing on his lips instead of the grimace that wanted to appear.

Okane was one of these regulars. Okane was one of these regulars who spent money, ridiculous amounts of it, over and over again, to watch Oikawa fulfill every one of his requests. While some regulars would skirt the edges of Oikawa’s limits, Okane never had strange requests: they were simple to fulfill.

Until now.

 _Okane._ A homophone to the word money.

Fitting.

There was once a time when Oikawa would shy away from fulfilling these requests: there had once been a time when Oikawa’s pride had him refuse to bend his head and submit to another’s request. He would’ve utterly rejected the idea of becoming a sex worker once.

He would’ve once refused the thought of being paid to be used in such a way.

It was strange to consider just how much he had changed over the years, and become someone who was both far too free with his body and jaded.

Closing his eyes, he let out a soft sigh.

And he typed a response to Okane.

> **Where and exactly when?**


	3. III

Sex was a norm in his life at this point.

Oikawa gasped and moaned loudly under a stranger’s body, behaving as if the only thing on his mind was the mindblowing pleasure of having an erection plowing into him from behind. As if he couldn’t breathe unless it was to draw in air to groan in pleasure.

Calling out with meaningless sounds and slurred attempts at a name, Oikawa could hear the man hissing at him to be  _ quiet _ .

He could then feel a hand tangling into his hair and shoving him head-first into a pillow to muffle his sounds.

Biting down on the fabric, Oikawa wondered internally if the man he was fucking was only telling him to stay quiet because the neighbours would hear another man crying out in pleasure. Because the neighbours might wise up and realise that the man was committing adultery against his wife with a male sex worker.

Okane’s ring pressed against his hip where the man’s other hand rested. It was a diamond-studded ring; expensive, tarnished from lack of care. The man was rich, and it was for this reason that Oikawa couldn’t bring himself to care in the slightest that he was aiding a man in committing adultery.

The man groaned and grunted; his hips slapped against Oikawa’s ass.

Oikawa pushed back against him with each thrust, letting out soft gasps and moans though they were muffled by the pillow in his mouth.

The sounds they were producing were obnoxiously loud and shameless; the squelching of lube and plastic, the slapping of skin against skin, the man’s drawn out gasping--wouldn’t the neighbours be able to hear this regardless of Oikawa being silenced?

Reaching out blindly behind him, he covered Okane’s hand with his own, tugging at it insistently from his hair.

His head was released, and he pulled his head back with a gasp. “‘ _ Kane _ -san!” He exclaimed breathlessly, imbuing his words with desperation. “ _ Please! _ ”

At the sound of his voice, he could feel the man tense above him then sag. He could feel the condom within him filling up; the man’s penis softened inside of him.

Oikawa let out a few token whimpers, shivering and tensing up beneath the man in a way that made the man gasp.

“Shit, baby, you’re so good. Your ass is so good,” the man finally panted out into Oikawa’s ear, quiet as a whisper. Sweaty lips pressed against his temple, and the man pulled out and get off of him. “Now get yourself dressed. I’ll give you the money as you leave.”

Oikawa carefully sat up, a hand moving to adjust the glasses that had become crooked throughout the man’s frenzied fucking.

Okane’s back was to him, shoulders tense with something that could’ve been shame. “Thanks for the...” The man trailed off, unwilling to be crude despite having just sodomised another man

“Any time,” Oikawa lied, smiling.

Standing up, he grabbed a towel from the side and cleaned himself of the man’s sweat. He then dressed himself, hiding his features under messy hair and large clothing.

Following the man to the front door, he thumbed through the cash that the man pressed into his hands. The man had given him more money than they’d agreed on--probably a bribe, to keep Oikawa’s mouth shut.

Glancing up, he sent Okane a smile.

“Thank you for your patronage,” he said sweetly, before walking out of the quaint little house sitting in its row of quaint little houses.

He didn’t wait for the door to close behind him, instead limping away towards the nearest bus station to head back home.

* * *

There had been a point in Oikawa’s life where he wasn’t constantly alone

He’d once lived with family, with his mother and father fussing over him and his sister and her child. He’d once had close friends, people that he would spend time with day in and day out. He’d once had a large group of people who knew his name, and had been concerned for him, and would talk to him just for the sake of talking to him.

Nowadays, he avoided people as much as he could; crowds left him feeling dirty, and he no longer had anyone he could easily call friend.

It was at this point that he wondered momentarily where Iwaizumi had gone off to after high school--but thoughts like that brought bitterness to his heart.

Iwaizumi had continued with volleyball. Iwaizumi was now on the national team.

There wasn’t any room left in Iwaizumi’s life for a setter who could no longer set a volleyball.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art for this chapter:  
> http://toorusized.tumblr.com/post/160050006726/oikawa-is-so-damn-gorgeous-and-she-knows-it
> 
> this is when the plot really kicks off.

A month later, Oikawa found herself standing at a train station dressed warmly in a cashmere shawl over a deceptive and elegant gown. The autumn chill swept past her, and she shivered, bringing her arms up in a futile attempt to block the wind.

The lustrous fabric clung to every curve of her body, drawing the eye away from features that would have looked out of place on the average woman--but it was for that reason that Oikawa wore accessories to hide away her identity.

Around her neck was a choker, bright and iridescent in its colouring, to hide the apple at her throat. A corset gave her shapely hips, and her short hair was hidden under the riotous curls of a wig. Her androgynous face was feminised by the makeup applied. There was nothing that could give her identity away.

But for all that she was hidden away beneath her clothing, she couldn’t hide away from the weather.

She shivered once more, edging closer to the train station in an attempt to get closer to the promised warmth of the inside.

Oikawa would deny fidgeting nervously with her shoulder bag as she waited for her client in that windy little corner by the train station.

Her current client had informed her to meet here, to dress as a woman and to hide her identity completely. Her client wanted to bring her to a public setting; her face would be shown to multiple people, and that had been all the information that she’d been given.

She never really enjoyed meeting her clients in person: she didn't have the safety net of being on the other side of the screen if it turned out that her client wanted more from her than she was willing to give.

This particular client seemed to want to have her as a _date_ , to prove that the client was interested in the female sex. While Oikawa wasn’t against fulfilling requests like this, she was certainly tense.

This was far more risky than streaming.

Making sure that the vibrantly coloured choker around her neck, the object she'd stated would distinguish her from the rest of the crowd, wasn't obscured by her hair, she glanced around nervously impatiently. When was her client going to finally arrive...?

“Excuse me? Are you waiting for someone?”

Oikawa startled at the sudden tap on her shoulder, barely hiding her flinch as she turned around, eyes wide in surprise.

The person who'd approached her looked strangely familiar, but she didn't dwell on that too much. Her client hadn't given her much information on what he looked like, but she was hoping that this person was him. He had black hair--he’d mentioned he had black hair, as useless as the descriptor may have been--and an expensive watch after all.

He had a sheepish look on his face, looking almost guilty for surprising her.

"Yes. Yes, I am," Oikawa said instead, putting on a smile. It didn't hurt to be polite even if he didn't turn out to be her client. "Ne, why are you asking? Are you waiting for someone too?"

The man’s eyes drifted to the choker on her neck, and he now had a relieved smile on his face. He let out a sigh, and boldly placed an arm around her waist.

Oikawa was tense, though desperately trying not to show it.

“Hm, not exactly. I was looking for someone, you see,” the man said with a charismatic twinge to his words. “And I think I found this someone. I’m Kuroo. I guess I’m your client for the night. Please take good care of me.”

At his words, her tension seeped away, and she placed a far more genuine smile on her face. She even took the opportunity to lean against the man’s side, looking up at him in a facsimile of affection.

(Kuroo… where had she heard that name before? She’d only ever encountered three men named Kuroo in her life: a boy called Kuroo Shouta in elementary school, and two celebrities she’d only ever heard about through the television. A baseball player and a volleyball--.)

Her smile didn’t waver even when she was struck with the sudden realisation that the man she was touching was _startlingly_ similar to the man she’d once seen on television.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

The vice-captain of Japan’s national volleyball team.

But she wasn’t completely convinced it was him, for all that his appearance seemed to say otherwise. (That hair was unique, utterly unmistakable for anyone else’s.)

“It’s nice to meet you, Kuroo-san. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person,” she said sweetly. Her voice didn’t shake; she was too much of a professional to allow her shock to show. “Ne, so what do you think of me? Did I pass muster for you?” She asked, a teasing trill to her words.

“Eh…” Kuroo trailed off, simply raising an eyebrow as he considered her form. His eyes trailed down her body. She had to suppress the urge to shiver again, instead adjusting her shawl in a show of confidence.

“No words?”

“You’ll fit in at the event. Maybe a little too well. I won’t lie though, I almost thought you’d sent a girl to fill in for you.” Kuroo stated. “You’re beautiful.”

Oikawa hummed in response, accepting the compliment without much reaction. She was slightly offended that Kuroo would imply that she’d not fulfil her obligations, when she’d been specifically asked to come here dressed as a woman. For all that her job wasn’t the most-- _reputable_ , she still had her pride.

She was a _professional_.

“We’ll be taking the train, by the way. I wasn’t going to risk driving in case I need to drink at the event, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be stuck in a taxi with me.” Kuroo stated with a shrug. “I promise it’s not too far from here though. What should I call you, by the way?”

Oikawa glanced at Kuroo, wondering how she was going to reconcile the image of the volleyball player with the confident, presumptuous man in front of her.

“I assumed you’d have a name you wanted to call me and a story to tell the others?” She said finally.

“Name you? That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?” Kuroo said in what seemed like bemusement.

“Not in the slightest. I’ve had much more extreme requests asked of me… as you should know.” She said, smiling.

Kuroo’s expression shifted into something almost akin to embarrassment, before he cleared his throat. “Ah-- let’s go with Touko, then. For your name.”

Oikawa didn’t let herself react to how similar that name was to her real name. She blinked slowly, once, twice, before she let out a slow exhale and nodded.

“If anyone asks where and when we met, just say it was at a game. Don’t want to have our stories mixed.”

Oikawa glanced up at him. A game. “A volleyball game, I assume Kuroo-san?” She asked, clearly implying that she suspected him of being Kuroo Tetsurou, Japan’s so-called rising star.

Kuroo’s eyes widened, and--

She finally understood why she had been called here.

What a scandal it would be, to know that one of Japan’s most virile and eligible male sports stars wasn’t straight! Even more so if it ever came out that he would be willing to pay for someone like Oikawa to build a public persona.

The gleam in her eyes turned sharp.


	5. V

Kuroo seemed to be uncomfortable at her not-so-subtle hinting, seemingly unhappy that she seemed to have figured out that her client wasn’t the simple everyday man that he’d clearly wanted to pretend to be.

She supposed it was the disparity in power between them now: she knew who he was, and everything else that his identity implied. He had no idea who she was, other than the fact that she was an escort for hire.

Kuroo had no assurance whatsoever that Oikawa wouldn’t blackmail him for her personal gain.

Oikawa sent him a carefully constructed look of adoration, pressing up against his side and placing her hand over his.

“It’s okay, Kuroo-san. You did really well that game. I was so surprised by how strong and swift you were,” she placated, a simpering lilt entering her words, just provocative enough to have him flinch.

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” The discomfort in his face was smoothed away behind a surprisingly convincing poker face that had Oikawa blinking. The confident grin had reappeared on Kuroo’s face. “Let’s go, uh, Touko-chan. If you’re ready to leave, that is.”

“Of course! I’m always ready for Kuroo-san.” Oikawa replied, imbuing her words with warmth. He seemed tense at her words again, clearly picking up on the sexual undertone.

It seemed that he wasn’t all that prepared for the more  _ physical _ aspects to hiring a woman like Oikawa.

Oikawa stifled the urge to laugh. (It was fairly ironic that a supposed playboy like Kuroo would avoid meeting her eyes at her flirting. Each falter in his confident smile only made her own confidence swell.)

Allowing him to lead them both to the turnstiles, she let him continue to lead them to the right platform to head towards whatever destination they were headed for. The crowd of late office workers had Oikawa pressed up against Kuroo. His arm was securely around her waist, palm warm through the silk fabric of her dress on her hip.

They didn’t speak until they were within a compartment on the train, Oikawa pressed up into a corner on the train and Kuroo pressed up against her front, his forearm resting against the wall by her head as if to shield her from the rest of the passengers within the train. His other arm was a warm weight around her waist, his hand a hot, humid presence on the small of her back.

His face was right next to hers.

She’d never realised that he was only a centimetre or so taller than her--and with the low heels she was wearing, their eyes were level.

His eyelashes were long, and he had freckles covering his cheeks. The product of hours spent in the sun, practicing volleyball.

She had to wonder what he could see upon her own face, caked as it was with makeup.

The last of the passengers squeezed into the compartment, and the doors slid shut with an automated hiss. The crowd around them shuffled, and Kuroo was pressed further up against her. They were hip to hip, and the arm that bracketed her head seemed to cage her in.

Oikawa kept her eyes on Kuroo’s face, watching as his expression changed subtly under her scrutiny.

“... You know, I had no idea I was that popular. Are you a sports fan?” Kuroo asked.

Oikawa’s lips quirked into a smile. She placed her hands upon his shoulders, rather than keep them demurely by her sides. “It’s not hard to imagine why Kuroo-san’s so popular. Kuroo-san is handsome, and tricky on the court.” She praised quietly, warmly.

She cast her mind back to the various programmes she had watched over the years, the recordings and online videos she’d indulged herself with in those few times she couldn’t help her nostalgia. Though her eye had always drifted back to Iwaizumi’s form, strong and reliable on the court, she could recall with ease Kuroo’s proud form.

“Kuroo-san’s strengths lie in his admirable flexibility, improvised plays and mind-games. It’s always a joy to see Kuroo-san playing,” she added with a tilt of her head.

Kuroo’s eyes slid down to the arch of her neck.

“Tricky, huh? Sounds like you aren’t just a regular fan. You sound like you’ve played before, or... that you’ve had some kind of experience in it.”

Oikawa wondered if she should admit it. Would it compromise who she was? Probably not--no one would remember Oikawa Tooru, shining star of Kitagawa Daiichi and potential team captain of Aoba Jousai until an injury left his right knee incapable of strenuous exercise.

“I’ve been a fan of volleyball since I was in elementary school,” she admitted finally. It was strange just how vulnerable she felt in admitting such a thing. Volleyball had been such a huge part of her life. “I used to play setter in middle- and high-school before I had to stop.”

“Setter? Regular?” Kuroo’s eyes had widened in surprised pleasure, which had swiftly been followed by a crooked smile. “Did you play often?”

Oikawa nodded. “I used to play every day. At school, out of school… against other schools,” she added wryly.

“What prefecture did you play in? We seem to be about the same age.”

Oikawa’s lips quirked. Fishing for information? She’d grant him  _ some _ information. “We are the same age,” she confirmed, laughing when Kuroo looked surprised that she’d admit such a thing. “I grew up in Sendai. Which is in--”

“Miyagi. Iwaizumi--the team captain, you know--came from Sendai too.” Kuroo interrupted with raised eyebrows. His hand drifted up her back, liquid warmth sliding up to rest between her shoulderblades. “How come you didn’t keep going with it? You seem pretty knowledgable. Did you know Iwaizumi?”

She paused.

Iwaizumi.

Oikawa let out a soft exhale. “I dropped volleyball because it wasn’t everything in my life. I had other important things in my life--like my studies. And you, Kuroo-san,” she added, sending him a coy smile. She fiddled with his collar, straightening it, unbuttoning then buttoning it back up. “I love my boyfriend very much, after all.”

Kuroo’s breath hitched when she drew in to press their lips together, the first they would share that evening.

Oikawa was a consummate actress. For whatever role she played, she’d play it to the fullest.

“Touko-chan’s a little tricky herself.” Kuroo breathed out against her lips. His pupils were blown out, but it didn’t seem to be from arousal; he was working something out in his head, something that was making her uncomfortable. “Sendai doesn’t have that many teams. I was acquainted with most of the captains--and gossip doesn’t die for  _ years _ in high school.”

She didn’t let him continue to speak for too long, pressing small butterfly kisses to his chin and cheeks. The crush of the crowd gave her an excuse to press up even closer, chest to chest and thighs pressing up against each other.

“Ne, Kuroo-san, are you trying to get me to give up all of my secrets?” Oikawa asked, a soft coo to her words. “That’s unfair, since a woman’s got to have  _ some _ secrets to keep.”

Kuroo shook his head. “Not secrets--but you didn’t answer my question. Did you know Iwaizumi?”

He wasn’t going to give this up, it seemed. Oikawa pursed her lips. “Iwa-ch… Iwaizumi-kun was someone I knew. In passing,” she added. “I didn’t know him that well.”

“You know, Iwaizumi hates being called by any nicknames. Not sure if you know much about him outside of the video recordings, but he has a special hate for being called ‘Iwa-chan’.” Kuroo stated suddenly. “He mentioned once that he had a setter--a best friend--that had to stop playing in high school who used to call him that. He mentioned that he’d never have that kind of relationship with a setter ever again, on or off court.”

Kuroo’s words were offhanded in tone, but with how intently his eyes were fixed upon Oikawa’s face, Oikawa knew they were anything but casual.

“He seemed really regretful when he told me about that best friend, that he lost contact with that Oikawa once they graduated. He mentioned that he asked around, but it seemed that everyone’d lost contact with Oikawa, even his family.”

Oikawa barely stopped herself from flinching, but from the tightened grip on her back, she knew that he’d noticed something off about her.

She missed the widening of his grin.

“You know, I’d say that this was a pretty good investment if you are who I think you are. You had one hell of a reputation, y’know?”

“Kuroo-san. Are you really that interested in finding out who I am?” Oikawa stated, voice quiet and almost blank. She tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled at it almost nervously. The arm by her head and against her back were starting to feel like they were trapping her against Kuroo’s chest.

She took in a shaky breath.

Oikawa was starting to regret taking this job. She should’ve left as soon as she realised it was Kuroo, no matter the kind of blackmail that she could’ve gathered against a celebrity athlete.

“This is kind of terrible of you, Kuroo-san. You’d pay for a fantasy, yet you’re immediately dragging us straight back into reality.”

Kuroo barely paused. “Fantasy? I thought I paid for companionship. My invoice said nothing about fantasy--if anything, I’d call this kind of service as  _ cosplay _ ,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, unwilling to let himself be heard even in a crowd full of strangers who wouldn’t pay attention to a man wrapped up around his female companion.

Cosplay.

For all that she did indeed costume up for some of her requests--the garments she wore at that moment were more than just a  _ costume _ .

Oikawa’s smile wavered even more.

_ Oikawa _ was more than just a costume.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if it's that noticeable, but Oikawa's a really unreliable narrator.  
> The writing's been messy these past few chapters but I'm thinking of rewriting this fic once I'm done with it to make it more cohesive.  
> But part of the reason for this is because Oikawa is **seriously** unreliable as a narrator and his emotions are constantly in conflict.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: dysphoria mention, negative family experience mention

Dysphoria was a familiar sensation to her.

It was almost _comfortable_ to feel it.

A miserable, consuming sensation growing in the pit of her stomach at the remembrance that no matter what kind of image she presented, she’d never reconcile her exterior with her interior, that the disparity between who she was and what she was was too big for anyone to accept.

Her family of all people hadn’t been able to accept it.

It had been a tipping point in her life when she’d been confronted with her unstable identity.

She didn’t want to remember this.

Oikawa’s mood had completely sunk after Kuroo’s quietly whispered comment, and it showed. Subtly, but enough to barely be noticeable. Her words to him were saturated with fake charm. She was unhappy enough that her attempt at a constant professional guise couldn’t hold up.

Kuroo’s many attempts at continuing their previous conversation finally stopped when Kuroo seemed to realise that he had said something wrong.

He cleared his throat. “We’re getting off this next station,” he stated almost apologetically. “But since we’re early--are you hungry?”

Oikawa ignored that question.

“Is Kuroo-san into that?” She asked, referring to the comment he’d referenced over ten minutes before. “Cosplay, I mean. You should have told me early, Kuroo-san. I would have prepared something else more tailored to your… desires,” she added, words sweet enough to be acidic.

Kuroo’s eyebrows rose. “That was a joke. You need to lighten up,” he added, a look of consideration entering his eyes, similar to the look minutes earlier when he’d uttered her name along with Iwaizumi’s.

Oikawa bit back the urge to curse aloud. Kuroo had already shown that he was extremely well-connected and intelligent.

If he’d been able to piece together who she was from just a few words and bodily reactions--he’d be able to work out more things about her than she was comfortable with. She had no idea how he would react to… this. ~~Who~~ What she was.

She needed to distract him, as futile as the attempt may be.

“I wasn’t joking. I’m asking you seriously--are you into cosplay, Kuroo-san?” Oikawa asked, plastering on a smile as she peered up at him.

A businessman to their right sent them a scandalised look. Considering how formally they were dressed, she could understand the stranger’s surprise.

“A-ah… No. Never looked into it, really. I only know about it from the girls around Harajuku and Akihabara. All of those cosplay cafes, you know?” Kuroo looked uncomfortable at the subject, clearly having never considered it before.

Oikawa’s eyes fixed upon his.

“... Mm. It’s something to think about, Kuroo-san,” she said finally, her fingers brushing against his jawline. “You never know if you really like something unless you try it out, ne?” She leaned in, pressing a soft against his cheek. A rouge shadow remained there in the shape of her lips. She brought her lips to his ear. “You said we were getting off here?”

Kuroo nodded stiffly.

“Yes. We are. Like I said, we’re--early. I thought it would take longer for us to arrive. Since we have nearly an hour, let me buy you dinner. I asked you earlier if you were hungry...  You haven’t eaten, right, Oi-- _Touko_ -chan? The food at the event won’t be enough to satisfy. It’s mostly just cocktails and flowery words,” Kuroo added with a dry laugh.

She didn’t miss the slip.

“Dinner, Kuroo-san?” She repeated, surprised despite herself. “I wasn’t expecting…”

This was far out of the scope of their contract. Kuroo had hired her for a _night out_ , paid her deposit and she’d been expecting a few hours of meaningless socialisation at a party, of smiling dumb and pretty before ending the night in her client’s bed.

Dinner had never been a part of the equation. (Though neither had her client being a _celebrity_ , nor her identity being worked out, been a part of it.)

“It’s my treat. Besides… it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to leave my _girlfriend_ starving, right?”

Kuroo’s lips quirked, and she wondered if this was an attempt at apologising for making her upset. Or if it was him making more opportunities to find her out.

As much as her head told her otherwise, she found herself nodding.

“Alright.”

 _Alright_ sounded like the click of the front door when she’d locked herself out of her family home for the first and last time.


	7. VII

Oikawa let herself be led out of the crowded train, her hand resting in the crook of Kuroo’s arm.

Following him as he led them out of the train station and onto the busy streets of Shinjuku, she restrained the urge to ask where he was taking her. They slipped away from the main roads into the back streets where a variety of izakaya bars were open.

Kuroo didn’t seem to mind that her pace was relatively slow, hampered by the tightness of her dress. He squeezed her hand against his side, occasionally glancing over at her as if to take in her reaction to the bars around them.

When she quirked her eyebrow at him, he grinned then seemed to pick one at random, leading her into the izakaya with a confident smile on his face.

Helping her into a seat once they were led into the premises, he took a moment to relax against the counter, glancing over at her.

A waiter came over to take their orders. Oikawa ordered herself a drink after a moment’s contemplation: heated umeshu. Kuroo ordered multiple-distilled sake for himself, as well as various pieces of grilled foods.

Kuroo resumed his staring once the waiter had left them on their own.

“What is it, Kuroo-san?” She asked when his eyes didn’t waver from her face.

Kuroo smiled. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be the way that you are.”

What did he expect then? That she would be a dull, mindless toy outside of the safety of her rooms?

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What you mean by that?”

“Just--you’re Oikawa Tooru. Right? From what I remember Iwaizumi telling me, his Oikawa’s…  _ you _ really weren’t the type to, uh, become an escort--”

“ _ No, _ I am not.” Oikawa interrupted, making his eyes widen in surprise.

She leaned away from him, reaching into her purse to pull out a compact mirror and using it as an excuse to look away from Kuroo’s face. Her eyes were sharp; she tried to soften the fierceness of her features, but the angle of her brows betrayed her discomfort. She closed the compact, then glanced back at him.

“I’m  _ not _ Oikawa Tooru. Tonight, I am your date, Touko. Don’t confuse me for someone else, alright Kuroo-san?”

“... Right.” He then smiled. “Just for tonight?”

Oikawa paused, considering the sly gleam in his eyes. If she let herself, she could half-believe that he would dare to pay for her time again. Though as  _ Oikawa _ , and not  _ her _ . She leaned in, bringing her lips to his ear.

“Just for tonight, I’m the  _ companion _ you paid for,” she murmured. “You wanted a date to take to a party, to show her off, then to bring her back home. Didn’t you, Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo stilled at her closeness.

“A-ah… no. I paid you for your time. Not to--bring you back home,” he refuted, words weak even to her ears.

She placed a hand upon his knee, fingers tracing light circles upon the firm muscle of his thigh. She could feel him tense under her touch, and she nipped lightly at his earlobe. She could hear his breath catch, and she smiled.

“I’m surprised, Kuroo-san. If you were really interested in a platonic date, you could’ve found just about anyone else. You needn’t even pay someone. Any woman would’ve been happy to be your date, had you simply  _ asked _ her. And yet--” Oikawa paused, trailing her hand up higher, “you came to me.”

“Yes, I did.” Kuroo’s voice was slightly hoarse. “What about it? I could still want a  _ platonic _ date even after coming to you.”

“You came to a man who sells his body for profit, and you paid him to dress up as a woman for you,” Oikawa kept her voice low, fingers improperly high upon his thigh. Kuroo was impossibly tense beneath her, drawn as taut as a bow. “You paid him to  _ cosplay _ for you. Did you really expect me to believe you didn’t want to see me on my knees, begging for a taste of your cock by the end of the night?”

Her fingers had reached the apex of his thighs, and she cupped her hand against his groin. She could feel him twitch beneath her touch, and she could hear his breath hitch again. She smiled at having gotten the exact reaction she wanted.

She drew back--only to have his hand close around her wrist, pulling her back in.

“Truth is--I can’t stand women at all,” he whispered, eyes solemn as he looked into her eyes. “But how would that sound to my team and sponsors? Not to mention my fans. I can’t--” he let out an agonised sound that she would’ve felt sympathy for, had she not been on the offensive, “ _ not _ be seen with…”

“A woman.” Oikawa finished. “So that’s why you brought me here. So that you can be seen with a  _ woman _ you’re actually attracted to?” She asked in what could pass for amusement.

Kuroo’s nod was so slight, so  _ hesitant _ to admit it, but it gratified Oikawa immensely to see him answer her honestly.

It was gratifying to have turned the tables on Kuroo.

Oikawa smiled, and she could see how his eyes darted down to her lips, pupils dilating. “Ne, Tetsu-chan, you didn’t answer me. Do you want me?”

She had leaned in, bringing their lips a mere centimetre from each other. Her fingers rose to rest upon the front of his suit, cupping the flesh over his heart. She could feel the heat from his face radiate towards her own.

“... That sounds like a personal question,” Kuroo murmured, voice hoarse.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, they broke apart. Oikawa glanced to the side to see the waiter, now flustered and embarrassed, set down their drinks onto the counter.

“Dinner--have dinner with me first, and I’ll answer you.”

Oikawa hummed. “Kuroo-san is paying for it. It’s up to you how you want things done,” she murmured, meaning far more than just their meal.

Kuroo swallowed, nodding again. “I want you to answer questions for me. Throughout dinner.”

Oikawa blinked slowly, considering his rather imposing sentence. “So long as it’s not about my  _ woman’s secrets _ . Do we need to establish rules about these questions?” She asked. Though a teasing lilt coloured her words, she was wholly serious about them.

“Sure. Enlighten me, what kinds of rules do you want to have? Though before you do--I won’t make you answer anything you don’t want to, but… as lovely as you are, I’m a bit more interested in Oikawa right now. No hard feelings; it’s not personal.” Kuroo stated, shrugging.

She tutted. “My rules are simple, Kuroo-san. Oikawa doesn’t have anything to do with tonight. Keep him out of whatever happens between us while you’re paying for my time.” Of course, that meant that Kuroo could always approach her when she wasn’t working, but Oikawa was confident that he wouldn’t be able to. The only way would be for him to hire her again--but she knew his internet handle now. She could avoid him easily enough. “Oh--and no lasting marks, unless you’re willing to compensate me for them.”

Kuroo choked seemingly on air.

“Hickeys and bruises aren’t very attractive when you’re trying to cater to a large variety of people every night, Kuroo-san,” Oikawa scolded quietly, smiling rather mischievously. “Though I’ll admit--I’m  _ very _ into it. I think it’s charming being  _ marked _ .”

His flustered state didn’t last for too long, and he seemed to decide that ignoring her suggestive comments was better than responding to them.

“What if I’m  _ very  _ interested in Oikawa, though? Doesn’t he have a price?” Kuroo asked. The redness of his cheeks quickly faded.

“Is Oikawa a whore?” She replied blithely. Oikawa  _ wasn’t _ . At least, not that particular identity of hers. “Why are you so interested in my--” she cut her words off, correcting herself with, “ _ him _ anyway, Kuroo-san? Are you in love with him?” She then asked, a bland smile on her face. “Actually--I don’t want to know if you do.

“I’m not him, after all.”


	8. VIII

Kuroo was silent for a moment.

“Eh… no way. I wouldn’t be in love with him. I don’t have time for love,” Kuroo said a moment later. “Between practicing, conditioning and work, I can’t focus on that. The only reason why we’re-- _I’m_ \--even able to do this right now is because I _have_ to be somewhere in an hour’s time.”

Oikawa hummed. “Kuroo-san’s a busy man then,” she agreed, reaching out to brush her fingers against his suit, wiping a piece of lint she spotted off of the dark fabric. “And yet he has enough time to watch me regularly, and enough time to contact me.”

“You--ah, you just so happen to stream after practice. It’s very convenient.”

A chef behind the bar set down a few plates of grilled foods before Kuroo could be grilled with questions on Oikawa’s part. He quickly took the opportunity to grab a pair of chopsticks, snap them apart then pick up a piece of grilled pork for her to taste.

Oikawa glanced at the food, hovering steadily by her lips. She then glanced at his face.

“Try it. Tell me if it’s any good,” Kuroo encouraged, smiling widely. He looked rather relieved that there was food to distract her from their previous line of conversation.

Deciding not to comment on his less than subtle attempt at changing the subject, she nodded, dipping her head in with a soft, “Itadakimasu.”

Parting her lips and taking a bite of the pork, she kept her eyes fixed upon his the entire time. She let the chopsticks slip a little too far into his mouth, the pork placed upon the back of her tongue near her throat. She could see how his mouth parted and the apple of his throat jolt as he swallowed reflexively.

Kuroo’s eyes widened as she pulled her lips away from his chopsticks, leaving a red smudge around the wood. She chewed, swallowed, then smiled coyly at him.

“It’s good, Kuroo-san. You should try some too,” she stated, pulling her own chopsticks out and offering a piece to him.

His attempt at eating was far less graceful; an oily imprint of the meat was left on the side of his lip. His eyes flickered towards hers, as if hesitant to meet them. She sent him another smile, waiting until he’d swallowed before she leaned in again, pressing her lips to the corner of his. She could taste the salty flavour of the pork on his skin.

“What’s with the sudden affection?” Kuroo asked, sounding faintly bemused. He’d raised his hand to his own face, rubbing at his mouth in something similar to thought.

Oikawa tilted her head to the side. “Can’t I kiss my date?” The tense moment seemed to have passed, and Oikawa was content to play at the mischievous flirt. It was what she was used to, and Kuroo seemed inclined towards that aspect of her many personas.

“Ah.” Kuroo’s eyes had widened again, as if surprised by the reminder. “Right. My date. To the party.”

“Ne, Kuroo-san, you should drink.” Oikawa took the sake bottle and poured it out for Kuroo, careful to keep the small glass from overflowing. “It would be a shame to go to a party dreadfully unprepared, ne?”

“Ri- _ight_ …” He drawled the word out, glancing at the small cup of rice wine in front of him. “Ne, Oi… Touko-chan, you just want me to get drunk, don’t you?” He lifted it up.

She could feel his eyes on her as she picked up her own cup of umeshu, raising it to her face to take a discreet sniff of the liquid. The usual stench of alcohol was surprisingly mute, pleasing her.

“I won’t deny that, Kuroo-san,” Oikawa teased, holding the cup out. “Drink with me anyway. Kanpai?”

Kuroo tapped his glass to hers, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “Kanpai,” he stated, as if in agreement.

Unexpectedly, he didn’t knock the drink back, instead taking a slow but long draught of the sake. She didn’t have to fight her usual revulsion as she took a sip of her own drink, letting the sweet flavours fill her mouth. She swallowed when she felt a familiar burn at the back of her throat.

She heard him let out a sigh, a drawn out exhale of something that sounded like relief.

“I haven’t had a drink in months,” he explained when he felt her eyes upon him.

“I’m surprised by that. Kuroo-san doesn’t seem like the type to abstain. Kuroo-san looks like a party boy. Do you not _indulge_ yourself?” She asked, coyly peering at him over her cup.

Kuroo didn’t answer her immediately, instead draining his first cup completely then setting it down. He shrugged his jacket off, folding it carefully over the back of the chair he was sitting on. “Well… I’m hardly a party boy. Too much work and no play,” he said with a soft huff of laughter. “Honestly though, I was always a good boy. Grew up alone with my mother.”

“Oh?” Oikawa had never heard of this, never having much interest in volleyball players beyond their abilities on the court and their old plays.

“Yeah. She worked a lot, and I spent most of my time doing what I do now. Going to school, taking college courses, working part-time… volunteering. You know. Responsible shit.” Kuroo blinked, as if surprised by his sudden use of vulgarities. The alcohol worked fast on him, it seemed. “I built up that discipline early on, I suppose. I find that playing volleyball _is_ indulging myself.”

Oikawa reached out to pour him another glass. “Mm… that’s cute. So Kuroo-san’s a mummy’s boy. I wouldn’t have guessed that with Kuroo-san’s smile, and how you use that mouth of yours.” Would it be too much to mention his tongue? She peeked at him again, leaning forward to buttress her chin upon her hand, elbow resting upon the counter before her. “Do you wish her good night with that kind of mouth?”

Kuroo laughed. “I used to. She passed last year, unfortunately.”

“Oh.” She was repeating herself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about that,” she stated, reaching out to place her hand upon his.

“Don’t mind,” he replied simply, not shrugging off her hesitant touch.

Oikawa took hold of Kuroo’s cup, raising it to his lips. “Have another, Kuroo-san.”

His lips touched the brim of the glass, but before he took a sip, he said, “Only if you do, Touko-chan.” Kuroo had taken hold of her own cup, holding it up to her.

Oikawa raised her eyebrows, having never experienced this strange ritual of--give and take. Kuroo had a grin on his face as he linked their arms together, his arm thicker and more muscular than her more waifish form. She’d once had arms like that; those days were long over though.

“Alright,” she murmured after a moment, curling her wrist around his. “Make sure you don’t spill that on me. I’d hate to arrive smelling like a bar after taking all this effort to come here like this.”

“I won’t. Trust me,” Kuroo insisted.

She didn’t respond as they both leaned in, eyes fixed upon each other as they took a drink from their respective cups. It was awkward, since Kuroo didn’t tilt his hand as she drained the fluid within the glass and she had to tilt her head to drain her own cup. She pulled away once she’d finished her portion, though he didn’t.

He set her cup down, then raised his hand to take hold of her wrist, controlling how it tilted. His fingers were hot against her pulse, pressing down upon the pale skin in a way that would barely leave transient reddened marks. A drop of sake slipped past his lips and down the curve of the cup, wetting her fingers where they lay at the base.

He took the glass from her hands, and kissed her fingers until they were dry.

“This is more work than I expected,” she commented vaguely, unsure of how to take his sudden tactile behaviour. It was strange to have someone treat her so gently.

“The drinking? Yeah, a little,” Kuroo agreed after a moment. He didn’t let go of her hand, instead, examining her nails. She’d had them painted red to match her dress. She’d be removing them when she got home after all their business was over and done with.

Oikawa wondered what time it was. Kuroo had stated they had time, but she was suddenly caught up in the realisation that time didn’t seem to pass while she was talking to Kuroo, and she had no idea how long it had been since they first entered the izakaya.

“Aren’t you worried we’re going to miss the party?” She asked.

Kuroo shrugged, the movement far more loose than it had been moments before. Then again, he hadn’t downed two cups of straight sake moments before. “It’s alright to be late. They won’t be expecting me to speak or anything, just to be there when they officially congratulate me.”

Oikawa tilted her head. “For…?”

“Becoming vice-captain of the team.” Kuroo reached out, taking hold of the sake bottle and peering at it. “Ne, Touko-chan. Pour some more out for me, would you?”

She mutely reached out, taking the bottle from his hands and filling his cup. He knocked it back. And then he held it out for her again.

“Should you be drinking this fast?” Oikawa asked, feeling mildly alarmed that he seemed intent on finishing the entire bottle now that he was aware of their time constraints again.

“Nah. But I have a lovely, uh, lady to keep my head on straight.” Kuroo said with a shrug. “I can hold my alcohol fairly well. It’s when I’m at the party that it’ll be a problem.”

Oikawa could guess that they’d be pouring him drink after drink, insisting on raising a toast whenever someone new came up to talk to him. It wouldn’t do him much difference to not drink before the party. She poured him another glass, though she took hold of his wrist before he could raise it to his lips again.

She took a sip of his sake, wrinkling her nose a little at how strong the flavour was compared to the umeshu.

“You’d better drink some water,” she stated after she pulled away.

He glanced at the cup, fingers brushing against the faint red shadow left behind on the glass. “Ahh. I will.” He raised the glass, and drank from where she'd just placed her lips.


	9. IX

Kuroo leaned heavily on her as they came out of the izakaya twenty minutes later.

He’d drunk his entire bottle of sake, and when Oikawa hadn’t touched her umeshu beyond the first three cups, he’d finished hers as well. His breath smelled of alcohol, but his eyes were still bright and lucid.

“I think you drank too much,” Oikawa remarked quietly, trying not to stumble when he squeezed his arm around her waist, pushing her slightly off balance. The heels she wore weren’t tall enough to make her wobble, but the lower surface area of her soles didn’t help her at all in her attempts to keep them both upright.

“It’s fine. Don’t mind,” Kuroo said with a heavy shrug of his shoulders. “It’ll take more than that to make me drunk.”

Oikawa glanced up at him, feeling how his hand rested warmly upon her side where her thigh met her hip. His heat seeped through the thin silk of her dress. She didn’t comment on the liberties he took with her body, instead following him as he led their slow way to the party he’d hired her to show her face at.

“You know. The grand king… Never saw him in person, but there were a ton of videos lingering with him in them. Shitty quality videos. Videos taken by middle school kids with their crappy phones,” Kuroo stated suddenly, ignoring how Oikawa tensed at his side.

He didn’t react even as she dug her fingernails into his arm, as clothed as it was with the thick material of his suit. Oikawa hadn’t heard that nickname in  _ years _ .

“There were videos of him and Iwaizumi, working in sync. Crazy things--barely looking at each other, yet being able to communicate across an entire court. There were rumours saying that he’d have been captain instead of Iwaizumi if he continued to play in high school. Lead his team to Nationals, win that, and that he’d eventually become captain of the national team if he tried hard enough. I would’ve loved to meet him. And fight him for the captain position.” Kuroo continued.

“Do people still consider Oikawa as grand king?” Oikawa asked faintly. She’d thought that those days were long since past, yet Kuroo was able to voice them,  _ years _ after she’d left the volleyball scene. “I doubt he still is, anymore.” She then added, far more firmly. “It’s been years since he’s been that. That chapter of his life is over.”

Perhaps it was the drink that had him address her so blatantly. She’d expected him to be far more subtle in his attempts. Then again, she would’ve stonewalled him far more aggressively if he’d attempted to be subtle about it.

“I still hear the title from time to time,” Kuroo continued on, as if not hearing the irate hint to her words. “He was truly amazing, from what little I did see. Some sort of far away legend I never got to experience on my own. Like I said, Oikawa’d the potential to be Japan’s national setter. Iwaizumi won’t let anyone forget that. I would’ve liked to have him with us,”

Iwaizumi.

Kuroo kept bringing his name up, and Oikawa had a realisation that Iwaizumi was probably going to be at the party. She had to draw in a sharp breath, trying not to let her nerves suddenly take hold of her. (She shouldn’t have come here.)

She cast her eyes away from Kuroo, staring at the ground.

* * *

The party was being held at a ritzy, upper-class hotel that Oikawa would’ve never set foot in, had she not had Kuroo’s arm tucked around her waist and an obligation keeping her shackled to his side.

She bit at her lip, worrying it as Kuroo pulled her along to to greet a variety of men, aged and balding, all clad in sharply-cut suits that spoke of frivolously spent money.

He pulled her along as they met person after person, and she was expected to smile at them, attempt to recall their names, their faces, their positions--even as they congratulated Kuroo boisterously on both his rising position as well as having a beautiful woman by his side.

Kuroo smiled like he was suffocating. He endured it all, waving off their words with a lazy hand and a tightened grip around her waist. She was slotted firmly against his side when his hand pressed against her hip, holding her close.

“Just an hour or two longer,” he whispered quietly into her ear, leading her to one of the central tables in the banquet hall that Kuroo’s benefactors had rented. “Then we can leave without anyone caring.”

They were accosted by more men, who all seemed to desire talking with Kuroo, encouraging him in his volleyball or his rising career.

Eventually, Kuroo managed to slip past the wall of men when an announcer called for everyone to find their seats, as the night’s programme was meant to begin within a few minutes.

It took a few words exchanged between Kuroo and one of the waiters, but he quickly found their table. It was aptly labelled “nationals”. She barely had to take a cursory look to realise that the entire first-string team of the Japanese National Team were sitting at this table along with their partners or guests.

Kuroo pulled a chair out for her, and she sat down primly with a quiet word of thanks. She was sat at Kuroo’s left, her name neatly printed as “Kuroo Tetsurou-san’s guest”. Clinical and practical; she preferred it when no one knew her by actual name in this place.

By her own left was a name of a man who she recognised as the national team’s libero. The libero, Nishinoya, had yet to arrive, judging by the undisturbed napkin upon his plate. On Kuroo’s left sat Iwaizumi, whose face had barely changed for all that he was taller, stockier, and his brow was furrowed with lines the formation to which she’d not bore witness. She was determined not to look past Kuroo’s face past that one, brief look.

She didn’t want to see how Iwaizumi had grown without her.

There was a programme on the table, recounting what was planned for the entire event. She picked it up, flicking through it with the air of boredom.

Kuroo leaned in, peering at it over her shoulder. He rested his chin upon her shoulder, in fact, cheek pressed flush against her neck.

“The President’s speech, followed by the Guest of Honour,” he read aloud, his breath puffing against her neck. “Then we have another speech from the president to give awards to various individuals. Then it’s dinner, then a closing ceremony. Sounds great.”

The smell of alcohol on his breath had lessened enough that she didn’t turn her head away from him. She leaned her cheek against the top of Kuroo’s head, brushing her lips against his crown in a facsimile of affection. She even brought a hand up to card through his hair.

“Great. That means the food’s probably going to be served in about five hours,” one of the middle blockers complained from across the table, a wry grin on his face.

Kuroo shot the man a grin. “Hey--if it really does take that long, I’m sure we could incite some form of rebellion among the crowd to overthrow the pres long enough for us to eat.”

Some of Kuroo’s teammates chuckled, raising their glasses playfully as if to agree.

“Ne, Kuroo-san, introduce me to your teammates,” Oikawa insisted suddenly. She gently nudged him. “I want to know the people you work with better.”

Kuroo sat back up, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Ah… right. I’ll start from the left.” Giving quick introductions to each of his members and their guests, if they’d brought any, he finally came to a stop just before he spoke of Iwaizumi to take a sip of the water he’d been poured.

Oikawa could feel Iwaizumi’s stare upon her face, and she glanced over at him almost reluctantly.

His eyebrows were as fierce as ever. His eyes were sharp. He had a crooked nose, as if he’d broken it one too many times. He looked as brutish as ever, and Oikawa attempted at a smile.

She was sure her smile was wan, and that he could see through the suddenly fragile facade she had on.

All over again, she felt like that vulnerable, broken little boy that had cried as his knee and future alike buckled in.


	10. X

“I haven’t seen you before with a lady,” Iwaizumi said slowly. Kuroo had tensed against her, though relaxed just as quickly. “Did you finally find someone who could put up with you?”

Kuroo’s head was turned away from her, but she could see his cheeks lift up. She wondered if he was sending Iwaizumi a grin that was easy and apparently unbothered. “Let’s not put it that way. Touko-chan’s an  _ angel _ . So this is Iwa-chan--I  _ mean _ , Iwaizumi Hajime,” Kuroo corrected when Iwaizumi’s eyebrows had ticked in that way that meant he was irritated.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Touko.” She probably had to give a surname. She hoped her pause was natural enough when she added, “Mizuno Touko.”

“He’s the captain of the team, as you know. Ne, he’s the youngest captain that the team’s had too!” Kuroo added.

Back in high school, Iwaizumi had been easy to fluster. He’d been terrible at accepting praise, genuine praise especially that concerned his accomplishments.

Apparently, he was still the same now. His face had turned a blotchy red, ears heated up. Iwaizumi turned his head to the side, averting his eyes as he attempted to regain his composure.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Kuroo-san’s told me a lot about you,” Oikawa said demurely, smiling sweetly at Iwaizumi. “He mentioned that you’re an extremely reliable man, and that he’s very proud to play alongside you. Thank you for taking care of Kuroo-san, Iwaizumi-kun.”

All sweet, honeyed lies, and Kuroo shot her an alarmed look. Was he alarmed that she could lie so well?  _ He really shouldn’t be _ , she thought.

“A-ah. Right. Thanks? I didn’t--well, I’m proud. To play with him too.” Iwaizumi stammered out, looking annoyed at how embarrassed he felt at the sudden praise, but was unwilling to blow up to relieve his embarrassment.

The National team members looked amused by Iwaizumi’s fluster, and began to tease their captain about how red he’d become.

Oikawa sat back, hiding her relief that Iwaizumi was no longer willing to look at her in the eye while he was still reeling from the praise. His gaze had been piercing.

“Ne, Kuroo-san, you didn’t mention that he was much more modest than you,” she teased. “Were you scared that I’d like him a lot more than you if you told me what he really was like?”

Kuroo immediately responded with an affronted, “Hey!” even as he looked at her with considering eyes, brown eyes alight with curiosity.

Oikawa sent him a smile behind which she hid her tension.

The night progressed much along this kind of vein: whenever Iwaizumi seemed to rest his eyes upon her for too long, she would redirect him with all of the knowledge that she possessed of him from years ago. What she’d known when she was 16 still applied, it seemed.

Even at 24, Iwaizumi reacted the exact same way.

He blushed when a girl hinted at a crude joke, he averted his eyes at praise, he got snappish when teased about his love for kaiju and Godzilla. Oikawa had been hard-pressed to make her conversation with him seem natural. It would’ve been highly suspect otherwise.

Kuroo had kept his eye on her, as if fascinated by her.

She kept a hand on Kuroo’s thigh, her feet brushing against his and her tone light as if she didn’t notice his heavy gaze upon her face.

He already knew that she was Oikawa Tooru.

She refused to let him know anything else.

* * *

Excusing herself to use the bathroom had been simple enough.

It was on her way back that had been less simple.

Barely a metre away from the female bathroom, Iwaizumi stood there, waiting for her.

She watched him with almost wary eyes as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He was right in front of her, arms crossed upon his chest and a steely set to his jaw. He looked suspicious, wary, almost  _ embarrassed _ at something, and Oikawa had a feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

_Is this Oikawa? It can’t be._ _Oikawa would never dress up as a woman. He’s too proud to look like this._

She’d long since changed from that close-minded and scared teenager she had once been.

“What is it, Iwaizumi-kun?” She asked, keeping her voice in that light, androgynous voice she’d long since become used to using. “Has Kuroo-san done something that I need to _ scold _ him for?”

Iwaizumi’s ears turned pink at the implications of her words, but he shook his head. “No… I just wanted to talk to you alone for a moment. You look like someone I know,” he stated.

Oikawa blinked at him, not allowing herself to react to his words. “Oh? Who?” She asked. “I know that some people say that I look like--” she rattled off the name of a celebrity, “but I really don’t think so… She’s far more pretty,” she added with a depreciative giggle.

“Ah--no. Not her. You look like a friend of mine that I had years ago.”

Oikawa blinked at him again, tilting her head to the side. “A friend? I would’ve recalled Iwaizumi-kun if we’d been friends back in high school. Iwaizumi-kun is a very memorable person.”

Iwaizumi looked unsure for a moment, eyeing Oikawa with a strange gleam in his eye. It was something almost inquisitive in nature. It was an expression Oikawa had never seen before on her former friend’s face.

“Well, honestly, I should say that you look like you could be the sister of a friend of mine,” Iwaizumi said slowly. “Since my friend’s a man.”

Oikawa’s smile felt brittle. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She asked, as if she were dense. “Or an insult? I don’t know if I want to be told I look similar to a man.”

Iwaizumi’s inquisitive expression had left, and he nodded. “I must be mistaken,” he said finally. “I won’t keep you from Kuroo. Excuse me.”

Oikawa smiled at him, brushing past him carefully as he moved towards the washroom.

It was only when she heard the bathroom door closing behind her that she crumbled in on herself, the tension within her stomach making her feel sick. She stumbled out of the hallway and into a private cubby to the side.

That had been-- _ so close _ .

It had been sickening. It  _ was _ sickening. She covered her mouth with a hand, trying to reign in her shaky breathing.

Her closest friend hadn’t been able to recognise her. She didn’t know if she was supposed to be  _ pleased _ about that or  _ appalled _ . He hadn’t been able to recognise her even under all of the layers of make up, of distraction and of--this stupid,  _ awful _ wig.

Iwaizumi hadn’t been able to reconcile the image of Oikawa Tooru with the image that she now presented, the guise of perfect femininity.

Her fingers trembled. Maybe it was better that he didn’t recognise her.

She would rather be remembered as the proud, bright-eyed Oikawa Tooru with two perfect knees and a perfectly shaped future rather than this jaded whore that she’d become.


	11. XI

Composing herself had taken her far too long, but Kuroo didn’t seem to notice her absence.

He helped her back into her seat, whispering that she’d been lucky to miss the past five minutes of nonstop droning on the part of the association’s guest speaker.

Kuroo had then been called upon the stage for his brief moment of glory, shaking hands with various men on a stage while he was photographed receiving an award. It was pretentious beyond belief.

Oikawa could see how Kuroo’s smile strained as one of the men pulled him close to whisper something, and she could see how he nodded, saying something back.

Then, he returned to their table with a gaudy, velour-bound certificate bearing the proud words of congratulations of having attained the vice-captain position of the national volleyball team.

She turned out the rest of the awards being awarded in favour of nudging Kuroo’s ankle with her foot and feigning ignorance whenever he glanced over at her in surprise.

Eventually, the only indication of him acknowledging her move at all was the brief flicker of his eyes downwards.

It would quickly return up to meet her gaze even as he leaned in to place his chin upon his palm, leaning against the table. She could feel his own foot moving to brush along the side of her leg, bunching the fabric up the length of it.

His hand eventually came to stay upon her thigh, warm and large enough in breadth to wrap halfway around the rounded limb.

His thumb had rubbed little circles against the silk of her dress.

It was a welcome distraction to the heavy weight of Iwaizumi’s eyes upon her, ever watchful of her interactions with Kuroo.

Dinner had been expectedly extravagant.

Five courses of meals, each perfectly plated to stimulate one’s appetite, and small enough in portion that one could fit in the next plate of food that came around.

Dinner had ended with a lacklustre dessert course of ice cream mochi, and Oikawa had poked it around with her gilded fork, keeping an eye on Kuroo as he ate his in one bite.

She reached out to thumb the rice flour off of his face, licking the dry, tasteless powder off of her thumb.

As the president of whatever sports association was heading this event continued to drone on, Kuroo sent Oikawa a rather wicked grin.

“Let’s sneak out,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m bored of this.”

Oikawa glanced around at the other tables, filled with people she would never see again in her life, and she nodded once. They used the dimmed lights to their advantage, making their quiet way out of the event hall. They garnered a few knowing looks, and some even winked at Kuroo as he passed them by.

But they were soon outside of the hotel.

Kuroo let out a gusty sigh, sounding utterly relieved. “We survived,” he said in wonder, looking over at Oikawa with a fascinated look in his eye. “And you weren’t caught.”

“Of course not!” Oikawa exclaimed in response. She was irritated by his presumptuous statement. “I was hired for a _reason_.”

“I’m glad.” Kuroo said. “Let’s go out for more drinks, ne?”

The wind was blown out of her sails, and she found herself deflating before her anger could ever even take flight. She eyed him. “Drinks, Kuroo-san?” She repeated.

“Yes. I want to take you out on another… _date_ , let’s say,” Kuroo said warmly. “Touko-chan is pretty tricky, she didn't let me ask her any questions over dinner since she was too busy making me drink.”

 _Ah_. That was the reason why.

“A legend is an apt description,” she said suddenly.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow.

“Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa murmured softly. “Calling him a legend is an apt description. He’s long since disappeared from reality.”

“I don’t believe that,” Kuroo rebutted.

“I do.” Oikawa said firmly. She leaned into Kuroo, taking hold of his hand and lacing their fingers together. “Tonight is just between you and I, Kuroo-san,” she murmured softly. “Could you think only of me, instead of another man? Would you deny me _this_ , Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo was silent for a moment, and she could see the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed. “Touko-chan, you’re gorgeous, but--”

She leaned in, pressing their lips together hard enough that the carmine red of her lipstick stained his lips. It was a handy excuse to get him to stop talking, a handy excuse to stop him from digging into her very person. She could feel him kissing her back after a pause, his hand resting firmly upon the small of her back.

His teeth were sharp against her lower lip; she let out a soft moan, low and sweet and needy, into his mouth.

He kissed desperately, as if he’d been denied of something for so long, and he was claiming everything he’d ever desired from her.

Kuroo pulled away, and his eyes were dark, his pupils utterly dilated and his breathing unsteady.

Hers wasn’t much better.

“Focus on _me_ , Kuroo-san, not on a figment of imagination. I promise you, I’ll be _much_ better than anyone you’ve ever had before,” Oikawa murmured enticingly, curling her fingers into his hair. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” She twirled those short black locks around her fingers, and added a saccharine, “I want Kuroo-san so bad it hurts.”

“Oikawa…” Her name was a breathless groan on his lips, a word that shook her to her very core. It almost hurt just how much it jarred her to hear her name spoken with such reverent desire.

Kuroo looked nearly pained as he extracted himself from her arms, pulling away enough that she wasn’t pressed up against him.

“I didn’t… I didn’t hire you for this.”

“Yes you did.” Oikawa stated, reaching up to brush her hair to the side. “ _Yes_ , you did.”


	12. XII

Kuroo had flagged a taxi, intent on taking her out to drinks as promised. Instead, she’d directed the taxi to the nearest love hotel, sending the driver a saccharine smile.

She then directed herself at Kuroo, fingers finding purchase in Kuroo’s clothing and pulling him in, whispering quiet, desperate words of want and desire, pressing heated kisses upon his throat and around his mouth.

Kuroo crumpled against her like wet paper, unable to withstand her practiced and perfected sexuality.

Oikawa’s fingers buried into his hair as he pushed her down upon the cushioned surface of the car seat, lips pressed to each other as if welded together by a divine force. He whimpered against her lips, each sound drawn out as delicate as a whisper, as reverent as a prayer.

She’d been careful to keep herself aware of where Kuroo’s hands wandered, to keep him from exposing her in a small, dingy taxi of all places.

He had pulled the skirt of her dress high enough to expose her thighs, the fabric bunched and rucked up at her hips. She had his tie pulled askew and his shirt halfway unbuttoned, hair a mess with how often she ran her fingers through the dark tangles.

The driver had been eager to see them out of his taxi. Kuroo had fumbled with his wallet, throwing too much change at the driver before he stumbled after her into the hotel.

Oikawa confidently strode up to the counter, each click of her heels upon the floor a second that drew them closer to the hotel room.

Kuroo’s eyes had been desperate upon her form as she took their key from the concierge, and she’d snagged his necktie as she passed him by, all but dragging him with her into the elevator that would take them upstairs.

When the doors had closed behind them, his lips were upon hers again. Within moments, he had her pressed up against the metal walls of the elevator, all but crushing her with the force of his desire.

Oikawa laughed against his lips, and she tilted her head back to stare insolently into the security camera as Kuroo’s lips slid down her neck, biting at her collarbones and leaving red, blotchy marks in his wake.

“Kuroo-san,” she moaned out, imbuing her words with all the desire she could summon up. “Kuroo-san,  _ please _ ,”

His hands had covered her own, his palms and fingers calloused against the soft skin of her hand. “Which room?” He gasped out against her neck.

She stated the number, and his grip upon her hand was firm as he pulled her out of the elevator and towards the room she had indicated.

His fingers trembled as he unlocked the door with the key he took from her. She stepped in after him and locked the door behind them.

The sound of the lock clicking had Kuroo freezing up, as if the sound had woken him up from the haze of his desire. He swallowed thickly and stared at her with wide eyes.

“Oikawa. Touko,” he corrected himself, his voice hoarse.

Oikawa reached out and brushed her index finger along his reddened lips, watching him as he darted his tongue out to lick at her fingertip.

“Kuroo-san. Go to bed.” She murmured sweetly. “I want you to undress yourself and wait for me like a good boy.”

“What?” Kuroo demanded. “Why?”

Oikawa smiled at him. “Good things come to those who wait, Kuroo-san,” she cooed. She leaned in and pressed their lips together. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like beautiful women like Touko-chan?”

Before he could stop her, she strode past him and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her so that he couldn’t follow her in.

And she let out a soft sigh as she regarded herself through the mirror.

It was time to return back to her other self.

* * *

The wig had left his hair in sweaty, matted tangles, and the makeup upon his face lingered in the corners of his eyes and upon the small cracks of his lips.

The dress came off to reveal a thin form, the shape of which was distorted by varying accessories. The flesh-coloured bra was unclasped and removed, the corset loosened and dropped to the floor. Oikawa drew in a deep breath as he ripped the tape off of his back and from his panties.

As much as it was a relief to no longer be so  _ confined _ within his former clothing, Oikawa regretted the change in his identity. Sometimes, it was easier to be a woman. Sometimes, he preferred when he wasn’t himself but herself.

He rubbed at his skin, willing the temporary indentations and redness to disappear. There were marks upon his skin where the seams of the corset and the bra had been, nevertheless where he’d ripped the tape off of his skin. But there was nothing that he could do about it.

He didn’t have the time to wait for them to fade away back into the smooth perfection he usually displayed on camera.

Oikawa left his clothing in a pile upon the floor, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame them from the errant curls it had become.

Kuroo was waiting for him outside.

Oikawa drew in a deep breath, and he unlocked the bathroom door.

He found Kuroo sitting down upon the bed, his suit jacket off and his shirt fully unbuttoned to reveal a toned chest. Kuroo’s tie was coiled neatly on the bedside table next to a fan of condoms that had been supplied by the hotel. Kuroo had removed his shoes and socks.

He was looking straight at Oikawa, and his face was slack in surprise.

Oikawa sent Kuroo a grin, a confident facade as he prowled forward. He felt vulnerable so undressed before Kuroo, in nothing other than utilitarian nude-coloured cotton.

“Didn’t I tell you to get undressed, Kuroo-san?” He asked, his voice still light and modulated, the same voice he used as Touko-chan and in his streams. “Ne, I’m upset to find that Kuroo-san isn’t a good boy after all.”

Kuroo jolted at the sound of his voice. It was the only thing that had remained the same after Oikawa’s complete transformation. “You-- uh,” he cleared his throat, “you changed out of that. Costume.”

Oikawa didn’t let himself react to that; he’d become numb to being compared to a facade.

Oikawa came up to Kuroo and slipped onto his lap, straddling his hips and placing his fingers upon Kuroo’s head, threading them through his black locks.

“Do you want Touko-chan back, Kuroo-san?” Oikawa asked, feeling Kuroo’s hands settle on his hips. Kuroo’s fingers trembled lightly, and he could feel Kuroo digging them into his pliant flesh in an attempt to stabilise them. “Or do you prefer me?”

Kuroo leaned in, fingers dragging up his hips and along the marks that had yet to fade from his sides. He traced the reddened lines that bisected his abdomen.

“You.” He breathed out softly. “Always you.”

Oikawa pressed a long, deep kiss upon Kuroo’s lips at his response, and he smiled humourlessly against Kuroo’s lips. “Kuroo-san is too kind.” 


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning:  
> filth. absolute filth.

Kuroo touched him like he was something precious.

Every touch was gentle, hands palming Oikawa’s body in the way a curator would palm ancient pottery, and he always so conscious of what he was doing. He was gentle. He was careful. It was  _aggravating_.

Kuroo would ask him if something felt good.

Oikawa always responded that it did.

Kuroo’s hand upon Oikawa's body would then become even more gentle, his touch so light it felt like a whisper across his skin.

His fingers explored Oikawa's body from head to toe, trailing the lines of his neck, the downwards slope of his shoulders. His fingers followed the seamless lines of his arms and his lips followed the line all the way down from his shoulder to his elbow to his wrist then finally to his fingers.

Kuroo kissed his fingertips, and licked at them, as if learning the shape and contours of his hands using his mouth.

Before Kuroo could get too into it, Oikawa rocked his hips upon Kuroo’s lap, a lascivious edge to his actions as he brought his ass directly against Kuroo’s cock.

It twitched beneath him, and Oikawa continued to grind himself up against Kuroo, letting out soft, breathy gasps with each motion that brought him in contact with Kuroo’s cock. Kuroo grew impossible hard as Oikawa continued to rock and grind himself into Kuroo’s lap in a clear simulation of riding him, fucking himself upon Kuroo's lap until he was unraveled by his own pleasure.

Oikawa could feel how Kuroo's cock jabbed into his ass, as if insistently begging to be let into Oikawa’s body. He reached down between his legs to palm Kuroo through the material of his pants.

He was hanging low, heavy even as he swelled under Oikawa's touch. He could feel how it warmed under his hands as more and more blood pooled into his cock until he was fully erect.

Kuroo groaned at the touch, tilting his head back, and Oikawa immediately leaned in to press kisses against his throat, open-mouthed, sloppy kisses that left no mark other than a lingering coolness. He could feel Kuroo's voice thrum through his throat, reverberating into his lips like an echo.

“Lube… where’s it,” Kuroo mumbled out distractedly, his hands slipping into Oikawa’s panties and palming his ass. His fingers pressed against Oikawa’s entrance, too dry to slip in with ease, but the sensation was enough to make Oikawa shiver.

A trained response after years of working like this.

"Gimme-- gimme a sec," Oikawa mumbled out, eyes half-lidded as he pulled away from Kuroo's neck. He crawled off of Kuroo's lap, reaching out to fumble through the bedside drawer. It took him a few seconds to close his fingers around the packets left in there.

When he turned around, Kuroo was there, hands grabbing his hips and pulling him back onto Kuroo's lap. Kuroo was fully erect now, and he rubbed himself against Kuroo, feeling how his cock fit within the cleft of his ass.

"Oikawa, stop," Kuroo murmured, and Oikawa stilled.

Kuroo's fingers slid from his hips to Oikawa's cock. He wrapped his fingers around the base, jerking it enough times to make Oikawa whimper. Oikawa made sure his fingers trembled as he ripped the packets of lube open, spilling it all over his stomach.

Kuroo moved a hand away from his cock to slide his fingers through the mess, smearing the clear liquid across Oikawa’s abdomen. He coated his fingers liberally in the slick liquid.

Oikawa let himself shiver at the touch.

Kuroo's other hand moved to grab Oikawa by his hair, turning his head enough so that Kuroo could kiss Oikawa slowly and deeply, as if he were something to cherish instead of use. The sensation of his kisses would spread like an ache, fire burning and radiating from each place of contact with his lips.

Kuroo pushed Oikawa down onto the bed, spreading him across the rough sheets like something that he could enjoy.

He kissed Oikawa all the way from his mouth to his navel, a trail of bites and bruises left behind as a statement of his careful attention to Oikawa’s pleasure. He spent seconds, minutes on drawing out quivering sounds from Oikawa’s lips, and Oikawa didn’t try to censor himself as he gasped, moaned and whimpered like a slut.

Each sound seemed to make Kuroo even more confident in what he was doing.

His wet, slick fingers found their way between Oikawa's thighs. He spread them open willingly, presenting himself to Kuroo.

Instead of shoving them right in like he expected, Kuroo pressed his fingers against his perineum. The jolt that it sent through Oikawa made him curse--and Kuroo snorted, amused. Oikawa bit his lips, raising a hand to muffle himself against his knuckles.

"Relax. I want you all slick and open for me," Kuroo murmured softly, kissing Oikawa's hip. Kuroo soon had his fingers inside of Oikawa’s ass, curling and stretching him out slowly. It was more courtesy than Oikawa had been shown in years, and it made him twist and gasp even louder beneath Kuroo.

It was mostly an act.

A part of him _screamed_ at the gentle treatment. He wanted Kuroo to fuck him and get it over with. He wanted the pain of being used to be over and done with so that he could make his way back home and never see Kuroo again.

But instead of satiating this silent cry, Kuroo was taking his time with Oikawa.

He could tell by the way he took his time curling his fingers inside of Oikawa, prying him open and exploring how he felt within, how he kept his eyes locked on Oikawa’s face to see how he’d react. How he’d press kisses to his skin, cheek flat upon his hip as he stared up at Oikawa’s face. His eyes never wavered from Oikawa’s face.

Kuroo wanted Oikawa to do  _something_ , but Oikawa wasn't sure what more Kuroo could want from him.

It was disconcerting.

Oikawa made himself moan, whimper and twitch as if he were hypersensitive with each new touch.

He _was_ hypersensitive to each new touch.

Kuroo’s touch was gentle enough that it was like fire against his skin, an unusual sensation that had Oikawa trembling in a way that he hadn’t since he was a teenager.

He couldn’t say he hated this, but he didn’t like it in the slightest.

* * *

It felt like hours and hours and hours later.

Kuroo’s fingers were still inside of his ass.

Oikawa was a dripping mess, legs shaky and red-faced, feeling as if he were being cracked open with Kuroo’s slow and gentle treatment.

Kuroo had refused to fuck him, wanting to see Oikawa come undone on his fingers. Kuroo wanted to see Oikawa come over and over without touching his dick even once, with nothing more than Kuroo's fingers in his ass and Kuroo's words in his ears. Oikawa had trained himself to be able to do that, but Kuroo seemed fascinated by Oikawa’s body and his voice.

He hadn’t let Oikawa touch him beyond a few kisses and palming him through his clothing.

Kuroo hadn't even come  _once_ , and Oikawa needed him to come  _at least once_ so that he could say he'd completed his job.

“Kuroo-san,” Oikawa gasped out, voice cracking as he was face-down into the mattress and his ass raised. Kuroo’s face was pressed against his tailbone. “Enough--! I'm, I can't,”

"Can't what?" Kuroo asked.

"I want Kuroo-san,  _please_ ," he made himself plead. His voice sounded so broken from how hoarse it was, overused from the constant moaning.

Kuroo pulled his fingers out, and he took hold of Oikawa's hair, pulling him from his position upon the mattress.

Oikawa was pliant under his touch, and he let Kuroo drag him back upright by his hair.

The sting of that tight grip on his hair was a familiar sensation, barely something he found painful at this point. He panted heavily as he stared at Kuroo, eyes half-closed from exhaustion and exertion.

"Kuroo-san?" He asked.

"How many people have taken you this far?" Kuroo asked curiously, leaning in to press his lips against Oikawa's cheek. "Did you let them see you like this?"

"Like  _what_?" Oikawa asked. "Kuroo-san, what...?"

Kuroo sent Oikawa a smile. "Looks like we haven't gotten far enough. You're still pretending, Oikawa."

That name again.

Oikawa shuddered, the move mostly an act. "I'm not," he refuted weakly. "I'm  _not_ , I want--"

Kuroo hummed, and he kissed Oikawa on the mouth firm enough that the words died in Oikawa's throat. "You _are_ pretending," he murmured. "Stop being tricky,  _Touko-chan_. I want you to stop pretending to be someone else when you're with me. I want _you_ here, Oikawa, no one else.

"Lie back down on your stomach. Put a pillow under your hips, babe," he added.

Oikawa did as he asked, feeling utterly humiliated. He wasn't sure if it was his exhaustion that had him slipping up, but Kuroo--didn't seem to care that Oikawa's  _mind_ wasn't in the act. Kuroo seemed pleased by it, because he had something to work at. For all that Oikawa's body was attuned to pleasure, Kuroo seemed fully aware that Oikawa's mind was fully fixated upon the presentation of the act--and Kuroo was fully intending on putting an end to Oikawa's performance.

"I want to see  _you_ , Oikawa." Kuroo murmured, his voice soft above him. "That's who I paid for."

"You didn't. You didn't pay for anyone but _Touko_ ," Oikawa refuted again. He let out a silent scream, flinching when he felt Kuroo's hand suddenly come down upon his ass.

The pain was  _sharp_ , it was lingering and  _fuck_. Oikawa couldn't breathe from the depth of the pain. Kuroo's hands had been shaped by the volleyballs that he handled daily. Even if he was being gentle with Oikawa, the slap of his hand upon his ass  _hurt_ because it was instinct to hit with the flat of his palm where the force was greatest.

Spanking.

He could deal with this. Even if it hurt more than the usual that he would experience.

Oikawa unclenched his fists, and he let out his instinctive intake of air in a pained whimper. He forced each muscle in his body to relax from their tense state before he pushed his ass back up as if to present it to Kuroo.

Kuroo hit him again, and Oikawa gasped again, cringing against the pillow.

"Oikawa. Let me see you," Kuroo requested again. "Be good for me, Oikawa," he added, in a mockery of the words Oikawa had spoken hours, _aeons_  or so ago.

Oikawa buried his face into the mattress rather than respond, and prepared himself for another hit.

Instead, he found himself  _screaming_ in surprised pleasure at the feeling of a mouth pressing against his testes, sucking upon his balls even as rough fingers circled around his cock. He was given a few quick jerks, but it was enough to have Oikawa slipping off into another, almost _painful_ orgasm.

He wasn't allowed time to differentiate between pain and pleasure.

Kuroo's hand left his softening cock and gripped his hips. Oikawa was still twitching from the aftershocks as Kuroo's lips moved north. The feeling of a heated, slick mouth working against his anus with tricky, sly fingers toying with the rest of his body was something he hadn’t ever gotten used to.

Kuroo was being relentless, not giving him a moment to recover as he fucked Oikawa's ass with his mouth and tongue and teeth and Oikawa could only grit his teeth as he moaned into the soaked mattress.

Kuroo’s tongue was slick and hot, it was stabbing into him repeatedly, sloppy and wet in a way that his fingers weren’t. It felt good. It felt _great_.

It was all too much for him.

He could feel his dick twitch, a half-hearted reaction. His body wasn’t primed yet after having come thrice already, but Kuroo had learned enough about his body to make him react.

He let out a series of muffled curses, biting down and holding on desperately to the soiled bedsheets while his body reacted with a pleasured pain that was far more genuine than anything else he’d let out so far.

“There you are,” Kuroo breathed out lovingly. His breath was hot against his skin. “Oikawa. You’re beautiful like this.”

Oikawa tensed, choking on a whimper that threatened to escape. Kuroo kept using his real name. It was wearing on him to be treated like this.

He was tired.

He was exhausted.

Kuroo was pushing him beyond his limits, and he couldn’t hold onto his facade if he kept _toying_ with Oikawa like this.

None of his other clients had been this-- _intrusive_ . They’d use his body then send him on his way, but Kuroo--wanted _Oikawa_.

He didn’t want the man Oikawa presented himself to be online.

“Kuroo,” he gasped out, throat clogged and sounding alarmingly close to tears. “Just get it over and _done_ with.”

Oikawa buried his face into the mattress, drowning out his instinctive sobs as Kuroo pulled his fingers out of him finally.

“You know, I’ve always wondered if you really were as sensitive as you shown yourself to be on camera,” Kuroo murmured, voice low and gravelly with desire. “You aren't _that_ sensitive, are you? You’re a good actor, Oikawa. But I’ve always preferred it when my partners are being genuine.”

Oikawa tilted his head enough to crack an eye open. His vision was filled with tears, and he had to blink rapidly to see as Kuroo finally undressed himself completely.

His shirt was thrown onto the floor, and his pants were completely unzipped and pulled down.

He watched as Kuroo pulled a condom onto his erection, watched as he stifled his moans at touching himself.

Kuroo then pulled Oikawa onto his lap, cradling him firmly against his chest. Oikawa was limp with exhaustion, and he could only bury his head into Kuroo’s neck as Kuroo took hold of his hips. Oikawa let out a stuttered gasp as he was finally filled with something thicker than a few fingers.

Kuroo was thick. His cock was stretching him out and it made him clench his thighs against Kuroo’s waist. His lower-half felt like it was on fire from the constant attention, and Oikawa bit down on Kuroo’s shoulder in an attempt to stop himself from gasping aloud.

“ _Fuck_ , Oikawa,” Kuroo moaned out, his voice soft against Oikawa’s ear. His breathing was heavy, and Oikawa felt him press soft kisses against his jaw. “You feel so good.”

Oikawa didn’t let himself respond, gritting his teeth into Kuroo’s shoulder and stifling his sounds as Kuroo began to thrust into him, his hands firm upon Oikawa’s hips and guiding each sharp point of contact.

Kuroo’s lips were ever gentle against his neck, for all that his thrusts were rough and slow.

“You’re beautiful. You’re so good, Oikawa,” Kuroo’s voice was a constant mantra of praise interspersed between the lewd thrusts that drove his cock as deep as he could into Oikawa. “You’re doing so well.”

He never made reference to how well Oikawa fucked. He only ever mentioned how _good_ Oikawa was, and it was affecting him more than he would’ve expected.

Oikawa could feel himself reacting to the genuine note of wonder in Kuroo’s voice, his exhaustion leaving him inebriated by the sweet encouragement of Kuroo’s words and the friction between their bodies.

He could feel uninhibited sounds escaping his throat, his eyebrows and face twisting in subconscious pleasure, and brought a hand up to cover his eyes. He could feel heat pooling behind his eyes, tears welling up.

 _This_ was something Oikawa hated.

The raw, genuine notes in his voice, uncontrollable in volume or sound; the unattractive breathiness to his meaningless words, the disgustingly unfiltered expressions that would appear on his face. All because Kuroo was telling Oikawa that _Oikawa_ was good.

He couldn’t control this.

“Kuroo,” he forced himself to gasp out. “Kuroo, _Kuroo_ ,” and he would repeat Kuroo’s name in place of the gasps that tried to come out.

“Come inside of me, _please_ ,” he would moan out, and Kuroo would whisper, “Just a little longer, you can do that, right baby?” and Oikawa would grit his teeth and stop himself from pleading.

He wanted Kuroo to _finish_ , finish playing with him.

Oikawa pushed Kuroo’s hands off of his hips, regaining enough control to pick his own pace. He dropped his own hands onto Kuroo’s knees, leaning back as he straddled Kuroo’s hips properly.

Despite the trembling of his legs and the weakness in his arms, Oikawa rode him hard and fast, fucking himself on Kuroo’s cock. Each rise of his hips allowed him to drop his entire weight back onto Kuroo’s lap. It felt like he was impaling himself on Kuroo.

Kuroo let out a startled gasp, making an abortive move to stop Oikawa, but instead crouched over Oikawa with a breathless chuckle.

“Oikawa,” Kuroo gasped out, sounding as wrecked as Oikawa felt. He bit down on Oikawa’s collarbone, the sharp stinging making him shudder. “Fuck, I _lose_ , Oikawa.”

The tension in Kuroo’s body when he finally came didn’t feel like a victory at all as Kuroo collapsed against him, forehead leaning against Oikawa’s heaving chest.

Kuroo seemed to fall asleep right there and then, half-folded over Oikawa, sitting up on a love hotel bed, still completely buried inside of Oikawa’s ass with a filled condom still wrapped around his softening erection. His breathing had evened out.

Oikawa reached up to thread his trembling fingers through sweaty black hair, carefully prying Kuroo’s head off of his chest.

Kuroo’s slack features were softened in exhaustion, close enough to looking like innocent _trust_ , and the tenderness of the expression had Oikawa almost flinching.

He needed to leave now.

He let Kuroo fall back onto the bed, and he pulled himself off of Kuroo. He didn’t bother to clean Kuroo up, instead stumbling to the bathroom on weak legs.

His knee throbbed. The ache of such a long session was pulsing with each step he took. He didn’t allow himself to falter even as he stooped to pick up his belongings off of the marble floor of the bathroom.

Oikawa pulled his entrapments back on. With each item he bound himself into, he didn’t allow himself to look into the mirror to see how he changed.

He didn’t want to see the fading marks on his neck and chest, nor did he want to see how his form feminised.

He turned his back to the mirror as he tucked his hair into the wig cap, the final part to his transformation back to the woman he’d always known he was inside of him.

It was far easier to leave things behind him when she was no longer Oikawa Tooru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: Oikawa _is_ genderfluid, but he only ever refers to himself with he/she pronouns, depending on the gender he is outwardly displaying. He isn't comfortable to be referred to as feminine when he looks obviously masculine and vice versa. He defaults to the masculine pronouns (he/him) when he isn't feminine-presenting because that's what he's used to and grew up with.


	14. XIV

From that day onward, Oikawa ignored all of Kuroo’s messages whenever they came.

Kuroo sent them when he streamed, when he didn’t; Kuroo filled his email with paid messages asking Oikawa to meet him again.

The one time Oikawa had responded and told him to get lost, he’d received five messages in response asking Oikawa to _please_ agree to meet with him.

He would send large amounts of money to Oikawa, as it that would convince him.

He ignored the enticing prospect of money, he deleted the messages despite the mounds and mounds of yen that Kuroo threw at him. He hadn’t taken the rest of the payment that they’d agreed upon, wishing to cut off all contact with Kuroo. He would have returned Kuroo’s deposit had it not been an nonrefundable transfer.

He refused to touch the thousands of yen that had once been Kuroo’s that now lay in his bank account.

He wanted to be left _alone_ , wanted no reminder of the life he’d left behind and Kuroo was so insistent on dragging him back to being Oikawa Tooru that he--couldn’t deal with it.

The vulnerability of being stripped apart and being completely bare due to Kuroo’s actions was unacceptable.

Having been hidden away for so long, it was _terrifying_ to know that someone could see him. He could admit this to himself now, after long and hard contemplation and avoidance.

Years and years of avoidance that had finally culminated in Kuroo finding him and then forcing him confronting his own psyche.

It was terrifying to him that Kuroo found out who Oikawa was, and that Kuroo still wanted him.

... Though granted, he didn’t know everything about Oikawa save for his name and what little history Iwaizumi had imparted, but still--it was jarring. It was scary. It was absolutely petrifying.

He couldn’t get the sounds of Kuroo calling his name out from his mind.

He hadn’t realised, not until he thought about it, that Kuroo had been the first person to call him Oikawa Tooru since he was eighteen.

It had been six years since anyone referred to him as Oikawa or as Tooru, and that day with Kuroo had shattered that record and brought him back to day-one of not being Oikawa Tooru.

It was jarring, _painful_ to realise that the life he now lived was one in which he had no name to call his own. Even his online handle--Ajisai, the delicate hydrangea--was one that was often disregarded in favour of being called whatever his clients preferred.

He was a man with only a body to keep him rooted in this world.

He had neither a name nor a history that he could used to validate his presence in the world.

When Oikawa let himself think about the situations that had brought him to this state, he could only feel a deep rooted sense of anger.

It was a generalised feeling, all-encompassing and consuming. He was angry at himself, at his family, at Iwaizumi, at the world, at whatever deity had made him the way that he was.

There was utterly _no way_ for him to be able to find a place for himself in this world, not when he was constantly slipping and sliding without any sense of _who_ or _what_ he was supposed to be.

* * *

One early morning, by complete chance, Oikawa found pictures of himself on the newspaper.

It was a week after he’d ditched Kuroo at the seedy love hotel. The hickies and reddened marks Kuroo had left behind on his skin had finally faded, and Oikawa could finally resume his work now that he no longer looked  _soiled_.

He’d been flipping through the paper idly, having found a spare copy sitting on the bench of the train he was on and had decided to scan through it.

The reason he picked it up in the first place was that he’d been morbidly curious about the world’s events, to see if the world had gone from bad to worse. Natural disasters were occurring more frequently, and Japan was no exception to this.

Instead of finding an article about a magnitude 5 earthquake in some foreign country, he found himself confronted with a picture of Kuroo with an arm around his... her waist.

Entire sections of the newspaper had been removed for whatever reason.

The page after the headlines lead to the sports section rather than global news, and Oikawa took a moment to thumb through the rest of the pages to see what sections he had with him. The headline story, the sports section and the society/celebrities section.

He returned to the picture of herself.

The photo had been taken on their way into the hotel that the award event had been held in. The photo had captured a moment long before she’d kissed him and distracted him from prying answers out from her. It had been a moment long before she seduced him within that taxi.

Oikawa blinked at the sight, and realised that they looked like a handsome couple.

Oikawa had always known that he--she--was gorgeous, but seeing a photo of herself standing right next to Kuroo seemed… strangely beautiful.

 _That_ Oikawa, the Oikawa who was long-legged, feminine and a goddess among women, looked like she belonged somewhere. She looked like she belonged there. Standing with Kuroo in the limelight, smiling and dressed up in decadent extravagance.

She complemented Kuroo with her willowy figure and long, tumbling hair. Where he was built, she was soft, and where she was fiercely proud, he looked smugly confident.

It made Oikawa feel sick.

It was-- _unfair_ that the body he was in, the one he was _permanently_ in, was the body that didn’t seem to belong in the world. That the body that he could only construct temporarily seemed to have a bigger lease in life than the man that he permanently was.

“No one knows who the lady is,” someone said to his side.

Oikawa glanced up to see a shy, but excited-looking schoolboy.

“... Sorry?” He asked, nonplussed by the sudden conversation.

“The lady. The one that Kuroo Tetsurou’s holding onto. The papers say her name’s Mizuno, but no one knows where Kuroo-san met her,” the kid said in a surreptitious way, grinning with pink cheeks at his own audacity at talking to a stranger so suddenly.

Oikawa noticed that the boy was holding a sports kit bag, and judging by his knowledge of Kuroo, he was fairly sure that the kid was in the volleyball team of whatever school he was in.

“Ah. Right. What’s so strange about that, though?” Oikawa asked the schoolboy. _Mizuno_... he'd mentioned the surname so offhandedly that he only just remembered that he'd labelled his alternate identity that. “Some celebrities date people they’ve known before they were famous.”

“Well, she’s really pretty,” the boy said bashfully. “And it’s the first time that he’s shown up anywhere with a woman. Why wouldn’t people be interested? Isn’t it natural to feel curious about someone that pretty, who just appears out of nowhere?”

Oikawa glanced at the newspaper article again, and closed it. “I guess so,” he agreed softly.

The boy seemed content to not speak after that, and Oikawa set the newspaper aside to stare out of the window behind him. Around him, a sea of salarymen and women swayed with the motion of the train.

Following the tide of bodies, he got off at his intended station, and followed the bodies through the gates of the train station. He then smiled when he caught sight of Okane, and walked straight towards the man.

As Okane carefully shook hands with Oikawa as if they were colleagues, not client and whore, Oikawa found his eyes sweeping over the salarymen that dodged and weaved around them.

Two rocks cleaving a river apart.

Just another day at work like everyone else in the world.


	15. XV

Oikawa stirred the instant cup ramen idly with soggy chopsticks.

He hadn’t eaten a single bite of it since he made it three hours ago, and it was now a congealed mass of carbohydrates and sodium. He couldn’t bring himself to eat a single bite of it.

Kuroo’s messages had decreased in quantity over the weeks as if Kuroo had finally gotten the idea that Oikawa _didn’t want to see him_. Oikawa found himself pleased that his avoidance and reticence in responding to Kuroo had finally resulted in a decrease in his phone bill.

And so, he found himself idly awaiting for the day’s message from Kuroo so that he could delete it with a smug note of satisfaction in his heart.

He’d awaited his usual morning text.

It didn’t come.

Then he’d awaited his lunchtime message.

It didn’t come.

And now, he awaited his late-night request.

It still hadn’t come--not yet.

Oikawa was _certain_ that the message would come. He kept his eyes upon his phone as he raised the mass of coagulated noodles to his mouth, tasting it without registering the sharp tang of saltiness on his tongue.

He would wait there until it was past midnight, then he would give up and go to bed.

He would lie in bed, bitter than Kuroo would deny him his opportunity for satisfaction, and fall asleep to the thought of Kuroo’s face twisting in anger that Oikawa would ignore him so viciously.

He wouldn’t be awake when his phone screen lit up with the messages:

> _Oikawa?_
> 
> _It’s me. Iwaizumi Hajime._


	16. XVI

Oikawa built his life around avoiding things.

He avoided volleyball, he avoided crowds, he avoided society in general. And now, he was avoiding Kuroo and Iwaizumi.

He couldn’t bring himself to block Iwaizumi from messaging him, fingers trembling whenever the cursor hovered over Iwaizumi’s username.

He couldn’t bring himself to work like he usually did, all too aware that-- _ Iwaizumi knew it was him. _

That Iwaizumi could see everything that Oikawa had posted in the past, how  _ degrading _ and  _ demeaning _ all the photos and videos and streams were.

The image of who he used to be within Iwaizumi’s mind would have been completely shattered by now.

For most other people, they would've given up on him. Yet Iwaizumi would continue message him, short and clipped messages that would tug at Oikawa’s heart and make him feel a burning,  _ painful _ regret. Guilt. Something between the two. Something that was both all at once.

Kuroo didn’t message him anymore, but he didn’t have to now that Iwaizumi’s messages came in daily. They only appeared at night, after eight-thirty but never past midnight.

> _ Kuroo told me about you. I saw your photos. It has to be you, Oikawa. It can’t be anyone else. _

Oikawa could feel his resentment towards Kuroo grow. Why had Kuroo told Iwaizumi? And so long after they’d parted ways? Did he just want to bring Oikawa  _ misery _ ?

> _ Why didn’t you tell me where you were? Why didn’t you contact me, Oikawa? _

What could Oikawa have said to Iwaizumi? Especially when Iwaizumi had confronted him that day? That yes, Touko had been Oikawa, and that his best friend was a transvestite homosexual prostitute?

> _ Oikawa, I’ll wait for you everyday by this train station. You know the one, I’ve sent you a link to which one it is. There’s a bakery there like the one back in Sendai. If you can’t remember it, it’s the one where you used to buy your milk buns from before school. They sell them here too, and they taste the exact same. I’ll stand there everyday from 9 to 10 at night. I won’t push you to meet me, but I want to see you. _

He could still remember the taste of those buns, buttery and sweet, and that they’d been a reward for a long day at school and practice. He would hoard them in his bag all day long, eagerly awaiting for six-o’-clock so that he could finally eat them. After his injury, they had become a part of his daily routine with Iwaizumi: they would walk from their respective homes, meet at the bakery, then head to school together.

> _ What happened? Please respond to me Tooru. _

Nothing happened. He didn’t want to respond.

> _ Oikawa, please respond to me. I’ll be waiting. _

The guilt was killing him with each desperate message that came from Iwaizumi.

> _ I’m still waiting here for you. _

Iwaizumi’s earnest messages were wearing down on Oikawa’s ability to resist messaging back.

He wanted to message Iwaizumi back. It would be stupid to, but he really did.  Iwaizumi had been his best friend since he could remember. Surely he owed Iwaizumi that much?

And so he dithered, letting each day go by as he struggled with himself and Iwaizumi's messages.

Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. The days would pass by, then cycle all over again.

Oikawa’s source of money never dwindled as Iwaizumi continued to dutifully send money to him with each message. It was enough for Oikawa to pay his rent and his utilities, to pay for his food and everything else.  It was as if Iwaizumi knew what his presence was costing Oikawa, and he was doing his best to compensate for it despite the years that had driven them apart.

Other of Oikawa’s clients seemed disinterested after his activity online was no longer as active as it used to. Okane seemed to have moved onto someone new. He only had Iwaizumi left.

Oikawa stared at his phone, his face pale and drawn as Iwaizumi’s message came in like clockwork.

> _ I got us milk buns if you decide to come today. They’re warm and they’re freshly baked. I miss you. _

Oikawa clenched his fist, and he let out a pained sob.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He stumbled towards his closet and grabbed his jackets, pulling them on. He tugged on sweat pants and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Jamming a hat upon his head, he then hunched in on himself and left the apartment.

_ One _ meeting.

That was all he ~~could~~ was going to give.

* * *

Iwaizumi was standing in front of the bakery as promised.

Oikawa found himself watching his best friend from afar.

Iwaizumi hadn't changed since the event. He looked pale from the cold. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he was shifting on his feet, looking so close to defeat as the minutes passed by and Oikawa didn't approach that it bid him forward, stumbling over the clay brick pavement to stand in front of his best... of Iwaizumi.

* * *

 

“Iwa-chan.”

“Oi… Oikawa.” Iwaizumi looked as tired as Oikawa felt, even as he raised a plastic bag for Oikawa to take. The bag rustled and swung in Iwaizumi's swaying grip. “Here. Like I promised.”

Oikawa reached out and took the bag after a moment’s hesitation.

The bread was cold, and he could see the condensation that clung to the inner sides of the plastic bag. The bread was soaked in the remnants of its former heat. He took it out anyway and bit into the wet bread. Iwaizumi watched him as he chewed the bun, forcefully swallowing it despite his dry throat. Watched as Oikawa finished the bread within seconds.

It barely satisfied the emptiness inside of Oikawa.

“What do you want, Iwa-chan?” He asked, bowing his head and looking at the floor. He was standing close to a fresh wad of gum stuck upon the concrete. He took a step away from it.

“Oikawa… It  _ is  _ you.” Iwaizumi sounded awestruck. “I can’t… it’s been  _ years _ . How… have you been?”

The question fell flat, awkward and inadequate in describing the years the gulfed between them.

“I’ve been alright.” Oikawa said finally, looking back up. “You?”

“I’ve… been good too. It’s been a few long years. Kind of hard to describe it all briefly.”

They’d never been like this before. Iwaizumi spoke to Oikawa like he was a stranger, or an extremely unfamiliar acquaintance, and Oikawa realised that it was all his own fault for leaving in the first place.

Iwaizumi had taken a step towards him, and reached out to place a hand upon Oikawa’s cheek. Like Kuroo’s hand, it was calloused and warm.

Kuroo.

“So Kuroo gave me up, huh?” Oikawa said bitterly, pushing Iwaizumi’s hand away. It didn't feel right to slap it aside. “What do you think, Iwa-chan? Knowing that your best friend’s a homosexual  _ whore _ now, while you’re living the life as a national athlete? That your teammate has  _ fucked _ me while I was dressed as a woman and paid me for it? Doesn’t it feel  _ great _ knowing that?”

The acerbic quality to his words had Iwaizumi flinching.

Iwaizumi looked briefly angry, but ultimately, he looked _upset_.

“N-no. It doesn’t. But it doesn’t matter, Oikawa. Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me? You could have told me anything. That you were going to leave. That you weren’t going into uni. We’d agreed to go into college together, planned out our futures together--why would you just  _ leave me _ , Oikawa?” Iwaizumi demanded. “We’re--  _ were _ best friends. Why did you just drop all contact and disappear on us? On  _ me _ ?”

Because Oikawa didn’t  _ have _ a future. Because his parents couldn’t accept who Oikawa was. Because Oikawa was terrified that Iwaizumi would reject him when he found out. Because Oikawa was a fucking  _ coward _ . Because Oikawa was a stupid, scared little child at heart who crumbled under pressure.

“So it’s all about you, huh Iwa-chan?” Oikawa sneered instead of responding honestly. “I should’ve expected this. I’m leaving.”

He spun around to stride off, but Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s wrist hard enough that he flinched.

Iwaizumi’s grip tightened, and Oikawa was dragged into Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Let  _ go _ of me!” Oikawa exclaimed, struggling immediately as he shoved and pushed at Iwaizumi’s body--but years away from volleyball had left him significantly weaker than his former friend.

Iwaizumi was  _ embracing _ him now and Oikawa found himself trapped within Iwaizumi’s arms.

The layers of clothing stopped him from hearing it, but he knew that his head was resting over Iwaizumi’s jugular where his pulse would be. He knew that it would beating heavily, hard and fast to reflect the tension of this moment.

Iwaizumi’s breathing was slow and measured, as if he were consciously controlling it.

“Oikawa. I’ve missed you. I-- I was so damn  _ worried _ when none of my texts got through to you. When all of my calls were disconnected because you’d changed your number. I’ve been searching for you for  _ years _ and I’ve finally found you.” Iwaizumi’s words were spoken into his hair, but Oikawa could still hear how close Iwaizumi was to tears despite the muffled quality of his voice. “Please, Oikawa. Don’t run off again and leave me behind.”

Oikawa trembled, and his eyes felt hot with tears.

Iwaizumi had always known the words to speak that would break him.

“No matter what, I’m always with you. Please don’t leave me behind anymore, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi whispered. “Let me be your friend again, Oikawa.”

There was a moment of silence, where Oikawa stopped struggling and stayed still in Iwaizumi’s arms.

“I can’t run, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa gasped out, voice small and tremulous. A wet sob of a laugh escaped him. “How  _ can _ I run with my knee like this, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi’s grip tightened around him as if he understood what Oikawa was actually saying with those words.

Oikawa could feel wet, hot tears running down the side of his neck. Iwaizumi was crying now.

Oikawa could feel wet, hot tears running down his own face as a result, and let out a pathetic laugh. He then raised his arms, and clung onto Iwaizumi just as fiercely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a set of warnings at the beginning notes. To summarise, this fic is going to be heading in a pretty dark location before it gets any better. We'll be dealing with topics such as self-hate, family issues, and all that fun stuff.


	17. XVII

Within an hour, Oikawa found himself curled up on Iwaizumi’s bed, wearing Iwaizumi’s clothing and holding onto a mug that belong to Iwaizumi.

It was filled with hot chocolate, milky and warm in a way that reminded him of middle school where he and Iwaizumi would stay over at each other’s homes and talk the night away, under the cover of darkness.

Iwaizumi would make it by microwaving their mugs of milk, then dumping two heaped spoons of instant chocolate mix onto the heated milk. Whenever he felt indulgent, he’d let Oikawa douse his own mug with honey to the point where it was cloying in sweetness. Iwaizumi had always complained of that habit, even as he grabbed saltine crackers to dip into his chocolate--something that Oikawa himself complained about.

“So why  _ did _ you leave, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked, sitting opposite to Oikawa. He was holding his own cup of chocolate, half-drank and the other half left to cool in the air of the apartment. “Oba-chan said that you’d left after an… argument at home with her.”

“I couldn’t play volleyball anymore. What more could I do with my future after my knee…  _ broke _ ?” Oikawa asked.

“That isn’t what I was asking about. And you know it.” Iwaizumi refuted. “You accepted that back in high school, in our second year. Tell me about why you argued with oba-chan and left.”

Oikawa fidgeted with the cup in his hands.

He ran his fingers over the porcelain knobs in the handle, following the artistic swirls in the cup. He wondered who bought Iwaizumi the cup, since it absolutely didn’t fit Iwaizumi’s more minimalistic tastes.

Iwaizumi seemed content to wait for Oikawa to summon up his courage.

“I’m not a man.” He said finally, words so quiet it was barely louder than a whisper. “Not always. Just… sometimes, I’m a man. Other times, I’m not a man.”

Oikawa kept his eyes on his cup.

He startled when he felt a hand on his hair, and looked up to see Iwaizumi frowning, a soft look on his face that he’d never seen before. He didn’t look surprised, but he didn’t look happy either.

“I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi said. “That I never even realised.”

Oikawa shook his head immediately.

“I-- I never told anyone. They… My parents found out when they… went through my closet. Found the clothing I’d hidden there. I thought my mother would never find it if I left it with the clothing I’d grown out of. It was stupid of me; she always looks through my clothing to throw things out. I bought,uh,” he could feel a shuddering in his chest, a precursor to ragged, wrenching tears.

He drew in a short breath, trying to steady himself.

Iwaizumi took the cup from him and he set them both aside on the bedside table.

Oikawa was pulled into Iwaizumi’s chest for the second time that day, and he could feel Iwaizumi’s lips pressing against his temple in an attempt at reassurance.

“Take your time, Tooru.” Iwaizumi was being so  _ delicate _ and it hurt.

“I’d bought skirts. Dresses. I’ve never gone to a store in real life. I’ve always… I bought them online, on a whim. They’d been on sale. My--girlfriend, back then, she said that green looked nice on me. So I… I used my sister’s credit card without telling her what I was using it for. I think she knew, since she checked her statement every month, but… she never seemed to care. She never asked me about it,” Oikawa said with stilted words. “My mother found out that day,  _ months _ after I’d bought them, and then she confronted me and…”

“She made it seem like she thought you were a deviant. She told me about it briefly without giving me any details, that she said things that she shouldn’t have. She said that she said... things that really hurt you, and that you had hurt her too.” Iwaizumi didn’t seem to want to repeat the words Oikawa’s mother may have spoken. Oikawa had trailed off, unwilling to revisit those memories. “Your father said the same things, I’m guessing. They’re the type to be like that, right? Traditional beyond fault.”

Oikawa nodded, his throat too clogged to make intelligible words.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay,” Oikawa added. The words came out like a whimper, weak and pathetic. “I  _ couldn’t _ .”

“And you never told me, and you just left us all behind,” Iwaizumi added softly. His fingers swept through Oikawa’s hair. “It’s okay, Tooru. Cry if you have to. I’m here for you now.”

Oikawa shook his head mutely, even as tears began to treacherously escape his eyes.

“I accept you Oikawa. I always have.” Iwaizumi murmured. “I love you, even if you’re a complete  _ idiot _ .”

Oikawa didn’t allow himself to burst into dramatic tears.

Nonetheless, he was held against Iwaizumi’s chest throughout the entirety of that night, and had hadn’t felt this loved since he was fifteen and surrounded by his family and friends after he’d collapsed on that court that day he’d lost his knee and his future.

* * *

Reconciliation had been… surprisingly simple.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi had always slotted together like jigsaw puzzles made for each other, and time and brief awkwardness, it seemed, couldn’t change that.

Oikawa found himself fitting back into Iwaizumi’s life without trouble.

Oikawa found himself moving into Iwaizumi’s apartment since that day, his belongings somehow translocating from his rundown little apartment in the suburbs to Iwaizumi’s upscale apartment in Tokyo.

Iwaizumi seemed to take everything in stride, giving Oikawa a spare key and giving him a bed and money to buy himself things to get settled in.

He didn’t seem to care that Oikawa did nothing much else other than stay locked up in Iwaizumi’s apartment, unwilling to leave the safety of his new bedroom. Iwaizumi didn’t seem to care even when he caught glimpse of feminine clothing peeking out of Oikawa’s closet.

Like he’d promised, Iwaizumi accepted him so totally and completely that it seemed like a dream.

Oikawa found himself with bedsheets softer than anything he’d ever owned before. He found himself able to take hot showers that lasted longer than ten minutes. He found himself waking every morning to the smell of coffee in the kitchen and Iwaizumi sitting at the dining table looking out of the balcony window.

He found that when his apartment lease ran out, he didn’t feel a need to draw up a new contract.

His business had come to a complete halt, and he had nothing left to tie him to that rundown apartment where he’d spent six years of his life, miserable and alone.

He moved the rest of his belongings to Iwaizumi’s apartment that very day.

* * *

“Do you still know how to make those omelets that you used to make back in high school?” Iwaizumi asked one morning, gesturing at the kitchen. “I’ve been trying to cook them all this time, but I can’t make them quite like you do.”

Oikawa sent Iwaizumi a grin. “Of course I can! Who do you think I am?” He asked.

“Oikawa. That’s who you are.” Iwaizumi’s response had Oikawa flushed a bright pink, unable to stop himself from  _ grinning _ that Iwaizumi was calling him by name.

Despite the familiarity, it was  _ novel _ to him.

Oikawa moved into the kitchen and pulled an apron off from the hook by the door. It was new; Iwaizumi had bought it for him just a day ago.

He busied himself with pulling ingredients out of the fridge, slowly recalling all of the different steps he needed to take to cook. He’d last cooked years ago, back when he had someone to share meals with.

Remembering the steps took time, but he managed to cook without much difficulty.

The omelet came out overdone, but Iwaizumi took it without complaint. Oikawa set down a bowl of miso soup next to the omelet, which Iwaizumi also took with a surprised glance at Oikawa.

“Thanks, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi said softly, looking up from plate. “That’s pretty cute.”

The pale egg had been draped artfully over a heap of warm rice, and Oikawa had taken the effort to write down words with ketchup on the egg.  _ Have a good day! _ was written in shaky ketchup, and it dripped down the side of the egg due to the heat.

“No problem, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa chirped, sitting down in front of Iwaizumi. “And I only make things that are as cute as  _ I _ am. Of course.”

It was a little too easy to slip back into how he spoke back when he was seventeen when he was with Iwaizumi. As if all the years apart were nothing more than a distant thought.

He watched as Iwaizumi ate the omelet.

“Oikawa, you should cook more.” Iwaizumi said suddenly. “Your food tasted better back in high school.”

“Well, excuse me that my tastebuds aren’t the same as back then!” Oikawa retorted immediately, standing up to grab another batch of eggs and cheese from the fridge. “I’ll do better to satisfy your royal tongue next time, Iwa-chan-sama!”

Iwaizumi snorted at that. “Idiot.”

They both lapsed off into silence as Iwaizumi continued to eat the omelet while Oikawa cooked himself his own breakfast.

“Ne, Oikawa.”

“What is it, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi’s spoon scraped upon the porcelain. “You remember what you said about Kuroo?”

Oikawa stilled.

“That he… uh, slept with you?” Iwaizumi continued quietly. “Did he  _ really _ hire you to sleep with you? When he told me about you, he’d only mentioned that he’d found photos of someone who looked like an older version of you on the internet. And that he’d asked you to come with him to the party to find out if it was you. Was he lying to me?”

Oikawa bit his lip, and turned the stove off. The eggs continued to sizzle on the pan.

“Yes. He did.” He admitted softly. “He didn’t know who I was until about thirty minutes after we met in real life.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows had furrowed dangerously, displaying true anger.

“I’d found that weird. Because your pictures were…” He coughed, embarrassment peeking out through the anger. “Vague. And didn’t show much of your face.”

Oikawa could feel himself blush as well, but he cleared his throat.

“Kuroo’s smart, I’ll give him that. He found out who I was with only a few sentences. I hadn’t expected him to be-- _ well connected _ . And with a long enough memory to recall all of the captains during our time in middle- and high-school,” he added, sounding bitter.

Iwaizumi fell silent.

He then picked up his empty plate and cutlery, setting it down into the sink and turning the water on. As it collected in the shallow curve of the plate, he then glanced over at Oikawa, who stood to the side silently.

“Are you going to forgive Kuroo for telling me about you?” Iwaizumi asked. “I mean… if he hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have been able to see you again. I’m thankful to him, even if you aren’t.”

Oikawa fell silent.

No, he didn’t think he ever could.


	18. XVIII

Iwaizumi seemed content with not pushing Oikawa after their brief discussion about Kuroo, letting him relax in Iwaizumi’s apartment for days without leaving at all.

He seemed happy that Oikawa was with him in the first place, and Oikawa _reveled_ in that sensation that he meant something to someone. Not that Iwaizumi was just _anyone_ , of course.

Iwaizumi was his best friend, his pillar and his foundation.

Iwaizumi meant more to Oikawa than anyone else before him.

Oikawa didn’t know how he’d managed all these years without Iwaizumi by his side, and realised only then just how _lacking_ Oikawa had been in those six years of loneliness.

He’d barely been alive in that time, subsisting off of scraps of affection thrown at him by men on the internet.

Iwaizumi’s pure and whole-hearted affection fulfilled him in a way that he’d forgotten could be real.

It was fulfilling and warming and _wonderful_.

Oikawa had forgotten just how unflappable and accepting Iwaizumi could be, especially when it came to Oikawa as a person.

Iwaizumi had never shied away from the worst parts of Oikawa: his jealousy, his pettiness, his manipulation or his controlling personality.

It made sense that he could accept the parts of Oikawa that even Oikawa couldn’t accept.

Iwaizumi hadn’t blink twice when one morning, Oikawa had tentatively entered the living room with a long wig upon her head and a skirt falling loosely from her hips.

He’d just looked at her and smiled faintly, remarking that he’d never seen a girl with hairy legs before even as he gnawed on some leftovers from their dinner the night before.

Oikawa had rolled her eyes, complaining that he was just blind and that Oikawa _had_ shaved her legs the other day, thank you very much, and Iwaizumi had continued to tease her about the state of her legs.

Truly, for Oikawa especially, it was shocking to be accepted so readily. Iwaizumi was perfect. She didn't deserve him, and probably never would.

Iwaizumi had licked his fingers clean, washed his hands and plates, then asked if she wanted to walk with him to work.

She’d left his apartment with him for the first time in three weeks, and she’d parted ways with him at the sports centre that the nationals team worked at.

Iwaizumi had smiled at her, squeezed her hand and told her to have a good day.

The past week of reacquainting herself with Iwaizumi was the story of how Oikawa fell back in love with Iwaizumi all over again.

He was her rock and her brother, the oasis in the desert that kept her alive, and she dove straight back into their kinship without reservation from that day onwards.

* * *

Days continued to pass by.

Life was idyllic. Oikawa began to venture out of Iwaizumi's apartment to explore the area around his home. It was slowly becoming  _their_ home now. The novelty of this sense of belonging had yet to wear off, and Oikawa found himself delighting in having a place that he was beginning to call home.

He wasn't sure if it was because he now had someone who knew who he was, or whether it was because it was _Iwaizumi_.

Oikawa's new day-to-day routine involved waking at four in the morning to watch the sunrise. It involved spending hours in the kitchen, wondering what he wanted to make for breakfast, then lunch, then dinner. It involved walking with Iwaizumi to the sports centre four days out of five. It involved seeking Iwaizumi after he'd finished practice, pressing their hands together and reveling in the simple joy of touching someone else platonically. It involved falling into his own bed, wrapped up in his own bedsheets and falling asleep before the hour could strike twelve and make this wondrous life come to an end.

It was  _healing_.

Iwaizumi's unconditional acceptance and constant presence was a balm to his soul, soothing both the wounds that he'd known about and those that he hadn't. Everything else about Iwaizumi wasn't quite as soothing, however.

Iwaizumi insisted on breaking Oikawa out of the little bubble that he was trying to fit himself into, constantly trying to drag Oikawa out of the apartment to meet other people. He kept attempting to pop the bubble Oikawa was constructing that was large enough only for Oikawa and Iwaizumi; Oikawa wanted to shut everything else out and live his life as if only he and Iwaizumi existed.

"It's unrealistic." Iwaizumi stated firmly. "And you're being stupid. You can't live like this, constantly locked up in our home."

"I've lived like this for six years. I can keep living like this," Oikawa retorted. "I don't need anyone else in my life apart from you."

"Oikawa. You're not someone who can live like that," Iwaizumi responded with a frown. "You're someone who  _needs_ others around you to be happy."

"Iwa-chan's the only person that I want around me. Iwa-chan's all I need to be happy. Everyone else isn't trustworthy to rely upon," Oikawa's words had turned bitter, thinking about how fickle other people could be. How _cruel_ other people could be. For all their supposed loyalty, where were all of his clients now?

And least of all,  _Kuroo?_  The lying son of a bitch who'd sell out the whore he'd hired, and for what? Personal amusement? A perverse sense of justice because Oikawa had refused to answer his texts?

Oikawa couldn't get his head around Kuroo's motivations, but he couldn't get over the knowledge that Kuroo had given him up to Iwaizumi for the apparent reason that Oikawa refused to see him after their so-called _date_.

He had so many examples of people that were untrustworthy that at this point, he didn't  _want_ to rely on other people. Not after having been exposed to so many people who justified his lack of faith in humanity.

Iwaizumi didn't seem to agree with Oikawa's thoughts.

"I'm not always going to be around you, Oikawa!" Iwaizumi snapped. "Even I'm not infallible! You can't rely solely on me, because I'm just as human as you are. Even if it's just one other person, you _need_ someone else in your life."

Oikawa fell silent then, and they didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day.

* * *

 "Alright, Iwa-chan. I'll try. For you."

"... Good enough for me. Thank you, Tooru."

* * *

> _Oikawa. My teammates found out that you’re living with me. They want to meet you and play a game with you._
> 
> _You don’t have to accept it. They know about your knee and everything. I think they just want to meet my best friend._
> 
> _Seriously. Don't say yes if you don't want to._

Oikawa stared at the text that he received.

Crouched over a trolley half-filled with the groceries that he’d been planning to cook with over the course of the next week, he found himself feeling-- _sick_.

Volleyball.

The last time he’d touched one was when he was fifteen, tossing the ball half-heartedly towards Iwaizumi, who had spiked them repetitively. He’d been fixed to the spot, sitting in a chair with strict instructions not to stand up because Iwaizumi hadn’t trusted that he wouldn’t try to run with his damaged knee.

Iwaizumi hadn’t been wrong back then.

Oikawa knew that had he not been restrained, he would have tried to jump. Tried to run and frolic and _play_ the game as it was meant to be played.

It was instinct for him. He _needed_ to move when he had his hands on a volleyball. He needed to feel the rush of movement, the wind in his hair as he ran towards the net and served.

When it came to volleyball, Oikawa was an addict without the means to get his next hit.

> _I can’t come._
> 
> _Not for a game at least._

He typed back slowly in response, a sharp taste of defeat on his tongue. He wouldn’t be able to handle it, being on a volleyball court and being unable to play.

Oikawa tucked his phone into his pocket and forwent the rest of his grocery list, intent on paying for what he’d already picked out and returning home. He couldn’t handle staying outside when his stomach churned like this.

As he waited in line for the cashier, he could feel his phone vibrate. He took it back out.

On the pop-up screen, he saw the message Iwaizumi had sent back to him, and he choked on a smile.

He shook his head. 

> _It’s fine. They're going to complain that they can't see you play but just remember that you’re worth more to me than any of them._ _I'll see if they'll be up for drinks instead next week._

Oikawa could see the indicator saying that Iwaizumi was still typing, and patiently waited for Iwaizumi's next text even as he shuffled up the queue as each person's groceries were processed.

> _Clear your schedule for tonight though. Bringing a teammate home for dinner._
> 
> _Don’t sulk on your way home. Don't forget to get some tofu._

He turned the screen back off, and left the cashier queue to head back into the store. He went into the dairy section to grab some tofu.

* * *

Walking home was slow with his arms laden with groceries, but Oikawa enjoyed the long walk back to Iwaizumi’s apartment.

It really only should’ve taken him fifteen minutes, but Oikawa decided that he wanted to take the circuitous route home, making his way through the park and enjoying the quiet of the late evening.

He enjoyed the shadows that the trees left on the night sky, and the quiet humming of spring insects waking up from the winter.

It helped him think, process Iwaizumi's texts with a clearer mind.

Drinks with Iwaizumi's teammates. The drinking part, he could probably manage, especially if Iwaizumi was by his side and keeping an eye on him. As for the _other_ part... People who lived and breathed volleyball, who had had the opportunity to give their blood, sweat and tears to the sport: the thought of them had Oikawa conflicted.

Oikawa was admittedly _envious_ of them and he had no doubt that it would colour his experience with Iwaizumi's teammates. Or perhaps _jealous_ was a better word to describe what he felt: he'd once had the chance to become one of them. One thing that had never changed about Oikawa was that Oikawa had never been the best at handling his envy or his anger.

He'd be snappish. He'd be rude. He'd be confrontational when asked about it. Iwaizumi would be disappointed with him.

However, it helped to know that Iwaizumi  _liked_ these people. His best friend had always been a good judge of people. Surely it wouldn't be as bad of an experience as Oikawa was making himself believe if Iwaizumi implied that Oikawa would like them too?

Oikawa walked circles around the park, pretending as if he were lost to steal some more time to contemplate.

A teammate was going to be coming to Iwaizumi's home. He wondered who it would be: one of the middle blockers? The libero? Iwaizumi's setter? He didn't think he could handle seeing Iwaizumi's setter on such short notice. The flare of jealousy in his chest returned.

He couldn't have that kind of connection with Iwaizumi anymore.

Someone else had usurped that position from him.

He hoped that Iwaizumi would have the foresight not to invite his setter to his home.

* * *

 The walk had been conducive in sorting his thoughts and feelings out. Oikawa had once found it difficult to be introspective, but years of solitude had left him with a distinct awareness of himself. It was satisfying to have settled the emotions that Iwaizumi's texts had stirred within him.

Of course, he hadn’t been so satisfied about the walk when he found his hands covered in mosquito bites (they were supposed to be _summer_ pests, after all), especially with his arms too full to allow him to scratch at them.

Dissatisfied and itchy, he made her way into the apartment complex with a pout on his lips and a ferocious ache on the back of his neck where he was fairly sure another mosquito bite would be found.

He threaded his fingers through his hair, humming in pleasure when he was finally able to put the grocery bags down. He went up the lift to the eighth floor of the luxury apartment complex, merrily scratching away at the reddened marks on his arms and neck until the bites were raw and almost bleeding in the short time that it took for him to reach his destination. He picked up the bags just as the indicator bell dinged, then left the elevator and headed towards Iwaizumi’s flat.

Oikawa rummaged through his pocket to grab the keys, then unlocked the door and bumping the front door open with his hip due to his full hands.

“Oikawa.”

“Oh? Iwa-chan, you’re already home?” Oikawa asked absently, setting the bags down with a groan and pocketing the keys. “I bought groceries while I was out. I didn't expect that I'd take so long to return... So who's the teammate you brought home? I wonder if I've met them bef--”

He cut himself off when he'd finally looked up, eyes fixed upon the other person sitting next to Iwaizumi at the dining table.

“Kuroo.” He greeted coldly.

“Hey there, Touko-chan,” Kuroo greeted, far more friendly in his manner.

He almost looked the same as he did when they’d first met. Confident, smiling widely--despite a bruise on his cheek that was yet to fade. It was large, covering the entirety of his high cheekbone.

Iwaizumi glanced between them warily, as if realising the depths of Oikawa's sudden fury.

“I know that you don’t like him, Oikawa, but I thought you needed to talk to him.” Iwaizumi stated slowly. “I’ll put the groceries away while you do that.”

He stood up, grabbing the bags out of Oikawa’s limp hands.

Oikawa didn't even have the time to protest or get mad.

Iwaizumi entered the kitchen, closing the door behind him and leaving Oikawa and Kuroo staring at each other in the living room of Iwaizumi’s apartment.

“Sit down, won’t you Oikawa?” Kuroo asked.


	19. XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned that this chapter is filled with **emotionally-harmful language and almost-violent verbal confrontation.**  
>  Hurt people hurt each other, and at this point, these characters are (unintentionally) toxic in their behaviour.

The silence was impenetrable.

Kuroo shifted on the dining chair under Oikawa’s gaze, obviously uncomfortable at the hostility of his stare. Iwaizumi hadn’t come out of the kitchen, and Oikawa knew that Iwaizumi was listening in, just waiting until the tension between them broke.

Oikawa drummed his nails against his thigh. He sat tensely on the couch, as far away from Kuroo as physically possible without being rude.

“What’s with the bruise?” Oikawa asked finally.

Kuroo raised a hand to touch his cheek. “This? Uh…” He trailed off. “Let’s call it a friendly discussion between friends gone a little out of hand.”

Friendly discussion… between friends. He hadn’t missed how Kuroo’s eyes flickered towards the kitchen door as he’d spoken.

Oikawa glanced over to the closed kitchen door as well, and considered the person standing behind it.

“So Iwa-chan did it?” Oikawa asked rhetorically. “That means I don’t get to hit you myself,” he added, a genuine note of frustrated disappointment to his words.

It would’ve felt  _ so good _ to sink his fist into Kuroo’s face.

Iwaizumi, however, had gotten there first. Maybe it was better, because Iwaizumi had always been better at controlling his temper, for all that Oikawa was the less volatile one between them.

Kuroo glanced between Oikawa and the door, looking almost nervous.

“Yeah. He did,” he admitted later. “I hadn’t expected you to…”

“What?” Oikawa demanded.

“Tell him the truth.” Kuroo said softly, reluctantly. “You weren’t truthful with me, after all. I wanted to help you. I thought--”

Oikawa laughed harshly. How goddamn  _ presumptuous _ of Kuroo! Not to mention, that he’d feel entitled to Oikawa’s honesty? Oikawa couldn’t believe Kuroo.

“You could lie to Iwa-chan to his face? Have him believe the best about you?” Oikawa shook his head angrily. “Iwa-chan-- _ Hajime _ is someone I’d never lie to,” he stated firmly. “You, however…”

Kuroo was arrogant enough to believe that he  _ deserved _ Oikawa’s honesty. Oikawa couldn’t  _ stand _ this. He didn’t owe Kuroo  _ anything _ .

“What did you mean when you said you lost?” Oikawa asked, his question fired with the ferocity of a bullet.

“Lost?” Kuroo asked, startled. “When did I say--?”

Kuroo paused.

“... Oh.” He breathed softly.

Oikawa raised an imperious eyebrow, watching as Kuroo squirmed again.

“I meant that in… a very literal sense. I lost to you, Oikawa,” Kuroo explained vaguely. “I mean--I was… trying to get you to be honest with me, uh, during that time. I couldn’t. So I lost.”

Oikawa leaned in.

“I  _ told _ you, so many times, that I wasn’t Oikawa. In that moment--I  _ wasn’t _ Oikawa. Why did you insist on making me,  _ me _ , Kuroo?” He demanded, words barely louder than a hiss.

“How can you not be you?” Kuroo asked, bewildered. “You  _ were _ Oikawa. You are him!”

Oikawa let out another laugh, ugly and harsh, making his throat feel painfully raw.

“So there’s no distinction in your mind between me as Oikawa and me as Ajisai, then. You think that I’m always and  _ forever _ going to have the identity of a whore in all aspects of my life. It makes sense now, why you’ve tried to  _ help me _ by exposing me.” Oikawa said bitterly.

Kuroo opened his mouth to interrupt, but Oikawa waved his hand firm enough that Kuroo closed his mouth again.

“It’s good to know that you’d want to score points with a  _ whore _ by reuniting him with his best friend. Maybe I’ll like you enough to suck your dick for free,” Oikawa spat. “Maybe I’ll even let you fuck me in the ass another time as a gift!”

Kuroo jumped to his feet, the chair he’d been sitting on falling with a clatter. “That isn’t what I meant!” Kuroo snapped, finally displaying some form of aggression in their one-sided interrogation.

Kuroo’s face had turned red in fury--or embarrassment, or shame. Oikawa couldn’t tell.

“I didn’t-- help you because I wanted to fuck you!” Kuroo exclaimed furiously. He then let out a frustrated sound, covering his face with a hand, swiping at his features as if that would wipe away his anger. “You--looked so fucking  _ sad _ and lonely and when I knew that you were  _ Oikawa _ I had to--!”

“You didn’t have to do  _ anything _ .” Oikawa hissed. “Don’t pretend like you’re an altruist,  _ Kuroo-chan _ . You hired me without knowing who I was, and you would’ve been happy to fuck me then  _ drop me _ once you were through with using me thoroughly. You would’ve forgotten who I was after I’d left the morning after.”

Kuroo’s mouth hung open, as if he was trying to find the words to respond to Oikawa with.

Oikawa slashed his hand through the air in a furious gesture. “You hired me with the full intention of using me. You wouldn’t have cared at all had you never found out who I was. Why did you decide to help me after realising I’m Oikawa? Did you want Iwaizumi’s affection at having located me?”

The thought had Oikawa’s eyebrows rising, and he let out a pitying coo.

“Oh--don’t tell me. You’re in love with Iwa-chan, and you thought that it would be the quickest pathway into Iwa-chan’s heart, is it? Too bad Iwa-chan’s straight, and that he’d never look at a man like you twice,” he added viciously. “That’s it, isn’t it, Kuroo-chan? Too bad you fucked your chances with him over when you fucked me.”

There was a moment of silence between them.

Oikawa was baring his teeth in a semblance of a grin. Kuroo looked stricken.

“You’re so close-minded!” Kuroo suddenly yelled. “Your point of view is so damn  _ narrow _ that you can’t see anything from anyone else’s perspective. Just because  _ you _ could never do such a thing as helping someone out of the goodness of your own damn heart doesn’t mean other people won’t!”

Oikawa rose to his feet, his calves bumping hard enough against the couch that it was pushed back with an audible screech.

“You don’t know a  _ fucking thing _ about me, Kuroo--!”

“You’re a terrible fucking person, Oikawa.” Kuroo continued, cutting off Oikawa before he could start. “Anyone with eyes can see that. You’re  _ disgusting. _ ”

Oikawa froze.

_ Disgusting. _

“You can’t even accept yourself, so the moment someone starts bringing up anything remotely personal, you start attacking them. You’d rather push everyone away so that you never have to confront yourself, is that it?” Kuroo asked, moving over towards Oikawa.

The kitchen door had opened, and Iwaizumi had come out.

Oikawa could hear Iwaizumi walking towards them, but he couldn’t turn his head to look at Iwaizumi. Kuroo’s eyes were fixed upon his own, and he was fixed in place.

“Isn’t that why you ran away from home when you were eighteen?” Kuroo continued, his words targeted towards Oikawa’s chest and piercing him like arrowheads.

As he spoke, he walked towards Oikawa, backing him up against the couch. Oikawa collapsed back into the cushions, breathing unsteady and body trembling as Kuroo loomed over him.

“Because you were too scared to face the consequences of being known? I’ll bet you left home because your  _ mummy and daddy _ weren’t going to accept you for who you were. Because you were scared of your perfect little life crumbling all around you because of other people. You’d rather destroy your own life by yourself, isn’t that right?

“You’d rather push everything away and leave yourself utterly alone than face the knowledge that someone’s going to find you disgusting. Well guess what, Oikawa? You  _ are _ .” Kuroo hissed, a hand planted upon the couch above Oikawa’s shoulder. “You’re  _ disgusting _ , and--”

“That’s  _ enough _ , Kuroo!” Iwaizumi snapped, forcibly pushing himself in between Kuroo and Oikawa, shoving Kuroo backwards.

He wasn’t expecting Oikawa to grab him by the shirt and push him aside.

“Aren’t you, too?” Oikawa spat out, words raw and so full of hurt that it rattled in his chest. “You can’t even accept yourself, that you’d constantly try to make up for your  _ deficits _ by sticking your nose into other’s people’s businesses and trying to fix them because you can’t even fix yourself. If I’m-- _ disgusting _ , you’re  _ pathetic!” _


	20. XX

Oikawa’s breathing was heavy, each desperate gasp echoing the rapid pace of his heart. His eyes were locked with Kuroo’s, those two dark, dark eyes full of anger and hurt.

Their respective words hung heavy in the air, and he had no doubt how much it weighed upon Iwaizumi--

But Oikawa was far too hurt to bring himself to care for Iwaizumi’s feelings.

If Kuroo’s intention at coming today was to provoke Oikawa, he certainly managed to provoke Oikawa to the point that he was genuinely furious.

He couldn’t remember the last time that he felt rage as powerful as this--not even that boy, so long ago… Tobi was his name, wasn’t it? Not even  _ Tobi _ had managed to make Oikawa feel like this when he’d brought Oikawa to the point of almost punching him.

Kuroo’s throat contracted, and he could see the Adam’s apple bob. He was swallowing; had Oikawa’s words got to him?

Oikawa was about to snarl out another vicious comment, to mock him in his pathetic display of attempted dominance, when Iwaizumi grabbed his wrist.

“What the fuck are you  _ doing _ , Iwaizumi? You don’t have anything to do with this! Let go of me!” Oikawa snapped, jerking his arm back.

At least, he attempted it.

Iwaizumi’s grip on his wrist was unshakeable, and painfully tight. Oikawa hadn’t nearly enough strength to break loose. He continued to try to pull away nevertheless, spitting out angry curses, betrayal starting to well up. It fed into his anger, and his actions became more and more desperate, more and more  _ violent _ \--

Until he heard his name being called.

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi was furious.

Oikawa looked up. Iwaizumi was  _ furious. _ It was evident in the blank expression on his face. Oikawa reeled back.

“ _ That’s enough. _ ” Iwaizumi’s words were absolute. “I didn’t bring you two here to yell insults at each other. Oikawa, sit down. And Kuroo--back off. Get out of his personal space.”

There was a moment of silence.

“... Alright.” Kuroo moved back, each movement jerky and awkward. He didn’t stop until he was at the other side of the room.

Oikawa felt tension bleeding out from his shoulders that he hadn’t realised was there. It was only then that Iwaizumi let go of Oikawa’s wrist, allowing him to collapse back onto the couch.

“... Let’s try this again. I see that going into the kitchen was a big fucking mistake,” Iwaizumi said with a heaviness to his words that hadn’t been there before. “Kuroo, you don’t need to stand so far away--”

“No. I want him to stay there,” Oikawa interrupted.

Iwaizumi sent Oikawa a hard stare, and Oikawa immediately closed his mouth. “ _ I said _ , Kuroo, you don’t need to stand all the way there. Sit… just sit somewhere,” he added. “I don’t care where you sit. Just  _ sit _ .”

Kuroo hesitated, keeping his eyes on Oikawa.

“He wants me to stay here, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrowed, and the silent show of annoyance was enough to spur Kuroo into moving.

When Oikawa didn’t say anything, Kuroo seemed to gain confidence. He moved to grab a chair from the side, dragging it over and sitting down. He stayed on the far side of the room, obviously hesitant to get any closer.

Oikawa looked away from Kuroo, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his feet upon the plush surface of the couch. Iwaizumi didn’t make a move to stop him when he wrapped his arms around his knees, nor did he prevent Oikawa from resting his forehead upon his arms.

Oikawa could feel Iwaizumi’s hand settle upon his back, a warm presence between his shoulder blades.

“Now, I’m going to pretend I hadn’t heard anything you two said. They were probably truthful, and things you both needed to hear.” Iwaizumi said as a preface. “What I will say is that I don’t agree with how you two said it. You’re both adults. You’re both capable of saying it without hurting each other. Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t aiming to harm.”

“... ‘M sorry, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa mumbled quietly.

“I don’t accept it.” Iwaizumi’s rebuke was immediate. “You’re sorry that you upset me. You’re not sorry for hurting Kuroo.”

“I still said it. He’s not said anything,” Oikawa retorted, jerking his head over at Kuroo without looking at him.

“I’m not the kind of person to give empty apologies, that’s why.” Kuroo’s words were icy. Oikawa could see Iwaizumi shooting Kuroo a stare, and he wondered what kind of response Kuroo had to the silent reprimand.

Iwaizumi shifted back, removing his hand from Oikawa’s back so that he could cross his arms. The loss of warmth against his back was an immediate loss.

Oikawa was far too stubborn to ask Iwaizumi to return his hand. He was far too prideful to admit he wanted the comfort in this situation.

Silence dragged on between them all, hanging awkwardly in the air of the apartment.

Oikawa began to dig his nails into his skin, utterly uncomfortable where he was.

“... So. Both of you have your own issues. Stuff in your pasts that you don’t want to talk about, and that’s valid.” Iwaizumi said.

“Then why’re you mentioning it?” Oikawa asked.

“I was getting to that.” Iwaizumi let out a gusty sigh, sounding far too tired. Oikawa refused to feel guilty. “All I wanted was for you two to just  _ talk _ about the whole--uh, reunion thing. For Kuroo to tell you his reasons why he told me about you, and for him to understand why you were a sex worker.”

The way Iwaizumi put it made it seem like he was far more respectable than he actually was.

Oikawa’s expression was hidden by his arms. He dug his nails in tighter into his legs. “I was a whore. A whore that catered primarily to undercover, in-the-closet homosexual men with far too much money to spend. It was good money. That’s all.”

“... Alright.” Iwaizumi didn’t call him out on his lack of honesty. “And Kuroo. Why’d you tell me about Oikawa?”

Kuroo’s response came slowly. “I wanted to help…”

That was a total lie.

Kuroo’s entire demeanour at their date had been predatory, totally interested in picking apart Oikawa’s identity and solving the puzzle that Oikawa had somehow presented himself to be.

“Liar.” Oikawa couldn’t help but retort. “You didn’t want to help. You wanted to solve a mystery, and get brownie points with Iwa-chan.”

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi’s call was another rebuke.

“I  _ will _ admit that it was--surprising. I’d heard a lot of rumours about you. How you went missing. It was just… something I wanted to know more about.” Kuroo’s hesitant attempts at honesty finally made Oikawa look up. “Oikawa was dressed as a woman. Totally looked like a trap.”

“It wasn’t a fucking  _ trap. _ I  _ was _ \--!” Oikawa grit his teeth, choking down on the words that wanted to come out. “Never mind. He won’t fucking understand, Iwa-chan. Just--I never want to see Kuroo again. Get him out. Get him out of here,  _ please _ , Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s hand came down and rested upon his knee. “He won’t understand if you don’t say anything, Oikawa.” His voice was soft enough that it made Oikawa glance over. “Just explain it.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t a trap? You mean you weren’t crossdressing for the heck of it?” Kuroo asked. He sounded genuinely confused.

“--It’s not a  _ cosplay _ . It’s not a fucking costume,” Oikawa said bitterly. Wasn’t it a bitter pill to swallow that he had to out himself like this? That he had to talk about his gender to someone he didn’t trust at all? And how there was the implication that he’d become a prostitute to express his gender… that he’d become far too content in being wanted despite being a male-bodied woman at times?

“Then what is it?” Kuroo continued to ask. “You’re a woman? Is that it? If you’re trans, I can understand that. That’s totally fine with me.”

Oikawa clenched his teeth, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Iwaizumi or Kuroo. He turned his head away from them both, clenching his eyes shut.

He hated this; hated the vulnerability and insecurity he felt. The only solace he had was that Iwaizumi had already accepted him as he was, flawed and all that--but Kuroo was someone he didn’t trust at all.

“I’m not-- _ always _ a woman,” he said finally, reluctantly.

Kuroo let out a gusty exhale. “... So only sometimes? Is that-- _ oh. _ That’s why you got… when I said that it was, uh, you know.”

“... Yeah.” Oikawa swallowed thickly. Kuroo didn’t sound accepting or resolved in any sense. “Is that it? Can I leave now, Iwa-chan?”

“Kuroo hasn’t come clean about his own reasons yet. But you can, if you want.” Iwaizumi’s voice was still quiet, but far less tense.

Oikawa had the distinct feeling that Iwaizumi was pleased that they were starting to come clean.

He stayed put. He wanted Iwaizumi to continue to show him that approval.

“I didn’t do it to make Iwaizumi like me... I don’t like Iwaizumi that way.” Kuroo said finally. “You know, what you said earlier? I don’t… Well. Uh. I  _ used _ to… but I don’t now. But I’m not…” He paused again. “I’m not, uh, entirely straight. But I guess you gathered that by now, Iwaizumi.”

“That’s fine with me, Kuroo.” Iwaizumi said. The softness of his voice wasn’t what Oikawa was used to--at least directed at other people.

“Yeah… thanks.” There was another pause, and Kuroo shifted audibly in his chair. “What I said was true. I did do it to help Oikawa… but the reasons behind it was more selfish, I suppose. I wanted to… I wanted the satisfaction of making you happy, Iwaizumi. I guess. By reuniting you with your… uh, friend? And I did want to find out about Oikawa. What the hell happened to him… her… uh, it? to make Oikawa a cam-- a sex worker.”

“Them.” Oikawa corrected. “Not it.”

“Sorry.”

Oikawa’s head snapped up at the sudden apology.

Kuroo looked awkward, a little guilty.

“Not for calling you an it. I mean--not  _ just _ for that. I mean, for… I guess outing you. Betrayed that trust. Contract. I mean, you told me that, uh, you weren’t… Ajisai, and all that. And for fucking up so much. Yeah.”

Oikawa hadn’t expected Kuroo to apologise so quickly, even if it was awkward and unscripted, and badly delivered.

He could only stare at Kuroo for a long while, in which the man began to look more and more upset.

Iwaizumi nudged his side. “--Oikawa? You should be saying something here.”

Oikawa jolted, and he cleared his throat. “R-right…” His voice was thick with emotion. “I accept it, I guess. I’m… I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Not yet,” he added.

Iwaizumi let out a snort. “Then apologise when you actually feel it, you idiot.” The insult was casual enough that Oikawa knew that Iwaizumi was feeling content again. “Don’t say that you’re not sorry, even if it’s true.”

The unspoken approval was enough that Oikawa perked up, finally able to smile a little since the beginning of the whole debacle. “I will,” he murmured quietly. “Apologise later, I mean. But not right now.”

“Alright.” Iwaizumi looked towards Kuroo. “You good with that?”

Kuroo said, “I look forward to it.”

* * *

It was only later, after Kuroo had been sent off that Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa with a smile.

“I’m proud of you, Oikawa.” His greatest, and dearest friend said.

Oikawa could feel a fluttering sensation in his stomach, and he pushed Iwaizumi’s shoulder roughly. “Never do that to me again, you asshole.”

“I can’t promise that. Not if it’ll help you.” Iwaizumi’s smile didn’t fade. “Now help me with the groceries. I couldn’t finish putting them away because of you two. I think the pudding’s melted by now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have their ups and downs. This is nowhere near the end.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone wants to chat, I can be found on tumblr at [toorusized](http://toorusized.tumblr.com). :>


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